


Strung Together

by pl2363



Category: Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: M/M, Oral, Sticky Sex, interfacing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-30
Updated: 2016-03-10
Packaged: 2017-11-23 00:01:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 23,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/615848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pl2363/pseuds/pl2363
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Perceptor is left alone once Drift loses interest in him. Wing crosses time to offer his comfort. *Set in MTMTE sort of. Turned into a AU*</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. String of Hope

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote the first part for the tf_rare_pair challenge prompt: Perceptor/Wing - "Impossibility". Bad science! String theory taken out of context and broken.

This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be real. Perceptor stared at a mech standing in front of him. One who bore a striking resemblance to Drift. Only moments before Brainstorm had been given the go ahead to shrink the Metrotitan. Reality had shifted. He had no idea where he was or who this mech in front of him was. Perceptor stood, trying to stretch logic to its limits to explain what all Brainstorm had done.  
  
“Hello,” the mech before him said, smiling. This mech’s golden optics shimmered. His body design of intricate layered plating harkened back to the golden age of Cybertron.  
  
“What’s happened? Where is everyone?” Perceptor asked in a calm, even tone despite his confusion.  
  
“My name is Wing. Time is currently running through past, present and future, therefore we may exist in the same plane,” the gleaming white mech explained.  
  
“Time is linear.” Perceptor replied.  
  
Wing’s lips curved into a bright smile. “And time is also relative.”  
  
Perceptor frowned.  
  
“Or do you not subscribe to the notion of time running on multiple threads at once?” Wing asked canting his head.  
  
“There is no proof of that theory,” Perceptor replied.  
  
Wing laughed. “Oh? And my standing here isn’t proof enough for you?”  
  
“I don’t even know where ‘here’ is.” Perceptor felt like the world was moving but he wasn’t moving with it, trapped in this strange neither world with this strange mech. Maybe his processor had glitched?  
  
“It’s his nature not to commit, by the way. I hope you haven’t suffered too much for it,” Wing said, his shining smile sobering to a more serious look. “Though, I’m quite happy that he saved your life.”  
  
Those words felt like a stab in Perceptor’s spark. This mech was referring to Drift? Drift’s attention to Perceptor and their rather short-lived ‘relationship’ had left him in emotional ruins. In the aftermath he’d grown cold, stark, quiet. “He?” Perceptor asked, knowing full well who this mech meant.  
  
“Drift. You do you know I was his mentor, do you not?” Wing then stepped closer to Perceptor.  
  
None of this made sense. This was not scientifically possible. Drift’s mentor was long dead. That great sword he carted around a reminder of his loss. “He mentioned you. I was unaware you were alive.” It was at that moment Perceptor also realized Drift had never mentioned his mentor’s name.  
  
“I’m not alive in your time.” Wing’s golden optics dimmed. “I’m alive in my time, but thanks to the disruption your comrades created with the Metrotitan, I was able to come here. To come see you.”  
  
“Me?” Perceptor vaguely shook his head. “I believe you have the wrong mech. If you are truly able to pass between threads of time, wouldn’t you come to see Drift?”  
  
Wing closed the remaining space between them and reached out, his long delicate fingers touching Perceptor’s chest. “I went to see the oracle for guidance. The oracle informed me of an alternate path. One in which I could avoid my death.”  
  
His touch felt so real. Warm. Glancing down, Perceptor let his fingers curiously touch the back of this hand that shouldn’t logically be there.  
  
“If I follow the path shown to me, I will survive to meet you in the same space of time. I’d be able to pull you from the dark, cold place you’re currently buried in.” Wing took another step forward, pressing his hand flat to Perceptor’s chest. He could feel the warmth radiating from Wing’s plating and fingers. “The battle can still be won on this path, but it’s my death that will create true change in those around me.”  
  
Perceptor looked up and stared into those beautiful golden optics, unable to tear his gaze away. Wing was beautiful, more beautiful than Perceptor could ever have imagined from Drift’s cursory descriptions. “This event has yet to happen in your time?”  
  
Wing nodded. “I apologize I’m not going to be there for you when you truly need it.”  
  
Shaking his head, Perceptor felt like his processor was spinning. How could this mech know him? Know about the pain he hid behind his stoic expression? “I believe you have the incorrect mech.”  
  
“No, Perceptor. I have the right mech.” Wing leaned in close, pressing his lips to the side of Perceptor’s helm in a gentle kiss.  
  
“H-How do you know my name?” Perceptor stammered. He must be experiencing some sort of processor melt down. This mech had to be something his mind conjured up in a moment of distress. There was no other possible explanation. No other way this mech could know his name.  
  
Wing shifted to stare deeply into Perceptor’s optics. “The path I do not choose would have led to me to you. Once Drift’s attention to you waned, I’d have been there to pick up the pieces. Mend you. I’m so sorry I can’t be there to do that, though.”  
  
No amount of self-control over his emotions could fight back the tears that pooled on Perceptor’s optics. He faintly shook his head. He _must_ be glitching.  
  
Wing suddenly looked sad. Filled with regret. He reached up and cupped Perceptor’s face in his hands. “Don’t give up on love. Don’t let him take that from you.”  
  
Perceptor balled his hands, fighting back the tidal wave of emotion cresting inside him. After Drift broke his spark, he’d promised himself not to ever be weak like that again. Remain detached. Rely only on reason and science, never emotion.  
  
“The time crossing will close in moments.” Wing dimmed his optics. “There is something I’d like to give you, but first...” His fingers still cupping Perceptor’s face, gently pulled him closer.  
  
Across time or inside his broken processor, they kissed.  
  
Lips met tentatively at first. The warmth felt so real. In this strange space of unreality, Perceptor suddenly latched on to this open affection. Real or not. He pressed into the kiss, and Wing parted his lips in an offering. Perceptor’s glossa slipped past sweet lips. Wing tasted amazing. He felt amazing. Twinning glossae and the radiating heat between their frames felt tangible, solid.  
  
The kiss broke, and Perceptor was left staring into incandescent golden optics.  
  
“Promise me you won’t give up on love,” Wing said.  
  
Perceptor dimmed his optics. “I promise.”  
  
“Good.” Wing kept one hand on Perceptor’s face as he reached down with the other hand, pulling a small object from his subspace pocket. “Hold out your hand.”  
  
Perceptor did as directed and Wing placed an object in his palm. Glancing at the small, weighted item, he noticed it was in the shape of scaled down Cybertronian jet.  
  
“In the old days, every flier was required to carry one of these for good luck and protection.” Wing pressed a finger to the small talisman. “May it bring you both.”  
  
Perceptor’s gaze snapped back to Wing’s beautiful face. If this wasn’t real, if his processor had been corrupted, he desperately hoped this moment wouldn’t end. Suddenly, he felt a shift in the air around them. Movement unseen, swirling.  
  
“The connection is breaking,” Wing said, dimming his optics. He then flung his arms around Perceptor, hugging him.  
  
Sliding his hands up Wing’s back, he hugged back, fingers splaying over the folded wings. _Primus, please don’t let this end_ … Perceptor thought as he pressed the side of his face to Wing’s helm, arms tightening on this mech in his grip.  
  
Like mist, Wing dissipated. Time moved forward. Perceptor’s comm. link blared at him. Rodimus demanded a report on what just happened on all channels. Looking around, Perceptor saw he was standing in his lab on the ship.  
  
“Processor glitch?” Perceptor asked himself. Looking down, he saw a small scaled down jet made of cast metal in the palm of his hand. “Impossible.”  
  
“What? That I’m amazing?” Brainstorm said as he came bursting into the ship’s lab. “I’m brilliant. You can say it. Of course, I _knew_ it would work.”  
  
“Did not! You got lucky!” Rewind said, trailing behind Brainstorm. “You got any data readings from what happened, Perceptor?”  
  
Perceptor stared at his comrades, trying to reconcile what he’d experienced. “I haven’t checked them, yet.”  
  
Brainstorm plopped down in Perceptor’s seat, pulling up the energy readings of the ship. “Let’s have a look see. Whoa! Look at that energy spike!” Brainstorm typed in a command to see the logs.  
  
Perceptor stared at the screen. The fluctuation recorded was so large part of the data scrolling past on the logs turned to gibberish. Sequence strings of code that were fragmented and incomplete.  
  
“I think we broke science!” Brainstorm said, laughing.  
  
“What’s that you’ve got there? A jet? That thing looks old,” Rewind said.  
  
Snapping his attention back to his hand, Perceptor nodded to the smaller mech. “It is quite old.”  
  
“Where’d you get it?” Rewind asked.  
  
Perceptor ran his thumb over the back of the small talisman. “From someone very special.”


	2. Unraveled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why this happened. The 'String of Hope' thing was originally a one-shot. I then wrote this follow up...

Rolling, Wing settled on his back, folded wings fluttering slightly behind him. Perceptor sat kneeled between white and red armored legs. Taking in the view, his optics’ gaze slid over the intricate details of Wing’s beautiful and ancient armor. His fingers absently skimmed over the red blades that curved outward from Wing’s knees on either side of where he sat. Wing’s golden optics watched him carefully, observing and allowing Perceptor to touch him as he pleased.  
  
There was no doubt that Wing was a beautiful mech, but that beauty seemed to radiate outward from somewhere deep inside. Spilling out from his optics, his movements, his demeanor. It was improbable that this mech would be lying here before Perceptor, offering himself like this, and yet he was. A small frown pulled at Perceptor’s lips as his mind started to wander to questions of how he was here. Where he was—  
  
“I hope you’re interested in more than looking,” Wing said as he ran his hand over own abdomen, reaching his interface equipment cover. The words and actions easily distracted Perceptor from his strayed thoughts. Delicate black fingers tapped the center of the cover, which split and retracted, exposing Wing’s already onlined equipment.  
  
Perceptor’s gaze shifted to the cat-like smile on Wing’s lips. “And what would you have me do?”  
  
“Whatever you wanted.” Wing traced his fingers around the edges of where his spike met his body. “I’m yours to have.”  
  
Allowing the barest hint of a smile to curve his lips, Perceptor trailed his black fingers up Wing’s inner thigh. He skimmed over the erect spike, causing it to tense and move. Wing shifted his hips upward, wanting more than the teasing touches Perceptor was doling out. Perceptor then shifted his weight again, scooting backward and folding himself forward, planting his lips in a sweet kiss to the tip of spike.  
  
Wing made a soft-sounding whine in response. It was like music to Perceptor, and Wing was his instrument to play. He parted his lips, sucking the head of the spike into his mouth. His glossa swirled around it as he gave the base a small squeeze. Wing sighed and moaned all at once. Perceptor wasn’t exactly practiced at the various forms of foreplay, let alone oral acts, but he did his best. His glossa wetted the length of Wing’s spike as he licked it from the base of the shaft up. His hand returned to pumping in rhythm with his continued mouthed efforts. Wing’s fingers curled into small balls at his sides as he watched and moaned. His wings behind him quivered, giving away just how close to the edge of release he was.  
  
Perceptor’s free fingers circled the outer rim of the valve, then pushed two just past the rim. Wing whimpered, his valve tightening around the tips of Perceptor’s fingers before he pulled them out.  
  
“Teasing me today?” Wing said, his voice losing its usual silken quality and taking on a deeper, aroused tone.  
  
Perceptor couldn’t exactly answer with his lips otherwise engaged, so instead he took as much of the spike as he could into his mouth and pushed his two fingers back inside the already slick valve. Wing made an unusual noise, a cross between whining and something more guttural as he overloaded and his spike released cycled mech fluid. Perceptor swallowed the sudden flow as best he could. It was a tangy yet sweet flavor that overpowered his sensors, the intoxicating taste of Wing.  
  
As Wing slumped back against the ground, Perceptor sat up, but kept pushing his fingers in and out of the valve slowly. Wing lay before him, optics dimmed with a wide, satisfied-looking smile on his lips.  
  
“Thought you were going to do what you wanted with me,” Wing said.  
  
“I am.” Perceptor canted his head and allowed himself the faintest of smiles as he unlatched his own interface cover, exposing his erect spike to the cooler air of the room.  
  
Wing’s optics flicked their focus to his spike, then back up. “That was just the warm up, hm?”  
  
Perceptor nodded, amused by Wing's desire to chat and his playful smile. Primus, that smile... It could light the darkest corners of the universe.  
  
Perceptor's slicked fingers continued to press in and out of Wing's valve. He pushed in deeper and twisted them around, feeling the mesh walls tremble around them. “Already primed and ready it would appear,” Perceptor said.  
  
"Ready and waiting is more like it," Wing replied.  
  
He retracted his probing fingers and carefully laid himself over Wing, his spike’s head gently teasing the valve opening. He stared into Wing’s beautiful golden optics, distracted by that bright inner beauty spilling outward from them.  
  
Wing’s fingers slid up Perceptor’s back. “You are so beautiful, you know that?” Wing asked.  
  
Heat flashed over Perceptor’s faceplates at the compliment. He’d never considered himself anything other than plain-looking. His special sniper-optic and newly armored frame gave him a different look, but he still paled in comparison with someone like Wing, or Drift… Drift… He frowned, his mind suddenly trying to apply logic to this situation. Wasn’t Wing—  
  
“What are you waiting for? You want me to beg, because I will if you want me to,” Wing said, his voice heady with desire as he squeezed his thighs against Perceptor’s hips.  
  
“Of course not,” Perceptor replied as he slid his spike past the valve opening, sinking himself inside Wing’s body.  
  
Wing whimpered as his optics dimmed and his fingers curled over Perceptor's back plating.  
  
Perceptor thoroughly enjoyed interfacing and overloading, but something about this moment of initial connection felt special. He and Wing linked together, fitting like pieces of a puzzle. Completeness he never felt otherwise.  
  
The valve’s mesh walls trembled around his hard spike, causing a ripple of heat to rise inside his spike and spill over into his sensory net. He shivered as arousal pulsed through him. He pulled out and then slid back into that heated, snug space between Wing's now quivering thighs. Perceptor groaned, engulfed by desire. He started slowly, but was soon thrusting in a steady, even pace. Wing moaned and arched beneath him, and his beautiful mouth fell open with all of his unrestrained pleasure. Wing rolled his helm back against the ground, baring his neck. Perceptor lowered his head down and licked along the exposed cables.  
  
Wings hands pressed firmly against Perceptor's sides, pulling on him with each thrust forward. "Harder," Wing whined. "You won't break me, I promise."  
  
Egged on, Perceptor's pace quickened, pushing deep enough to bump the ceiling of the valve's vault with his hot, extremely hard spike.  
  
"I'm all yours," Wing said, his thighs giving Perceptor's hips a squeeze. "No one else's..."  
  
Chasing the edges of the overload he now felt tingling though his entire frame, Perceptor moaned.  
  
Wing then tensed, his whole body taught as his valve spasmed and squeezed Perceptor's spike. With a hard edged grunt followed by a sharp gasp, overload crashed through Perceptor. Cycled mech fluid flooded Wing's valve. They each contorted their bodies into one another riding the intense waves of pleasure that pushed through both of them at once. As the last ebbs of their passionate coupling passed, Perceptor sagged over top of Wing. Spent and floating in a haze of euphoria he so rarely felt in his lifetime, he placed a reverent kiss to Wing's chin.  
  
Wing twisted his head to look at Perceptor, offering his incandescent smile.  
  
Perceptor shifted his hips, slipping free of Wing's hold on his spike and settling himself against Wing's side. Wing reached up and trailed his fingers around the edges of Perceptor's face. "So pretty and you still don't see it, do you?"  
  
"You are the attractive one here," Perceptor replied. The dreamy haze of his overload slowly began to fade.  
  
Wing's smile suddenly took on a sad quality.  
  
Perceptor's no longer desire-laden processor then reminded him that something wasn't right. But what was it? That's when he became aware he wasn't sure where they really were. In a room? Outside? And Wing, isn't he Drift's mentor? If so... Isn't he—  
  
"It's time to wake up now," Wing said, his voice sad-sounding as if he regretted his words.  
  
"Wake up?" Perceptor replied in a questioning voice.  
  
"Yes. Wake up now, Perceptor," Wing replied.  
  
Perceptor's optics lit in the darkness of his quarters. He gasped, disoriented and confused. He rolled over and sat up, his hand landing in something wet. He stared down at his berth. His optics lit the vaguely glowing liquid and he slowly processed the scene before him. Interface cover wide open, spike and abdomen splattered and small puddle beside him. His posture sunk at the realization he'd self pleasured in his recharge... again. This had been happening for sometime now. Ever since the strange encounter across time he'd had with Wing. Prepared, Perceptor snatched a drying cloth off his berthside table and wiped up the mess.  
  
Heaving a thick sigh of air through his intakes, he frowned. "How pathetic am I to dream about a long dead mech?" Wing had asked him to be open to finding love, not fall in love with someone no longer among the living. "If only you were here," he whispered.  
  
Just then, something made a clanked sound on Perceptor's desk. Curious, he got up and turned on the lighting. Staring down at the desk, he shook his head. "That's highly improbable." He reached down and picked up the small, metal talisman jet that Wing had somehow left in his hand. It had been on the inset shelf over the desk. It was far too heavy to move by accident, and there had been no gravitational shifts he'd felt that could possibly move it.  
  
"Wing...?" He turned and looked around the room as if expecting to find him standing there, smiling brightly, but the room was very much empty.  
  
He glanced back down at talisman, and ran his thumb over the smooth metallic item. Perhaps he should be carrying it around? The premise behind carrying an item for luck and protection lacked logic, though. It made no sense, and went against the scientist in him. Still, to have something Wing gave him close to him all the time had it's own appeal after so many recharge cycles like this one, and he slipped it into his subspace pocket.


	3. Tangled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is more to the situation than Perceptor realizes, but Wing is reluctant to explain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't going to add anymore to this, but ended up writing this thing. I think I just like them together and wanted to make poor Perceptor happy for once... Sort of.

Frowning at his energon, Perceptor gently rolled the container between his hands, causing the glowing liquid to whirl around. Voices of his comrades echoed through Swerve’s bar, reaching him at his corner seat. Glancing up, he saw Drift enter with Rodimus and sit down together at a table. Ever since Drift’s attention to him waned, his everyday actions had started to feel more and more hollow and meaningless. He felt important and unimportant at the same time. Important when he was needed and then disregarded when his purpose was served. The only fulfillment he ever felt now were in his dreams with Wing.  
  
“Seat taken?”  
  
Perceptor looked up. Blaster stood hand on the seat beside his mid-motion, waiting for the go ahead.  
  
A shrug and half-nod was all Perceptor felt like offering in reply.  
  
Blaster pulled the chair out and sat himself down. “How’s everything in your corner of the world, Perceptor?”  
  
Perceptor glanced at him. “It is what it is.” He lifted his energon to his lips and took a small sip, before carefully setting it back down on the table.  
  
Blaster took a swig of his energon, then canted his head at Perceptor. “It is, huh?”  
  
Was this going to be the depth of their interaction? Perceptor’s words mirrored back at him? If so, he wasn’t much in the mood for it and chose not to reply.  
  
“Talkative as usual, I see.” Blaster shook his head.  
  
“You didn’t leave me much to work with,” Perceptor replied.  
  
“Back at you.” Blaster knocked back half his energon in a few greedy gulps, then set his glass down on the table. “I remember this science-geek mech that would excitedly go on and on about the most complicated things.”  
  
Perceptor gave his comrade a side long glance. Blaster held his gaze, as if challenging him.  
  
“Was there something you needed from me?” Perceptor finally asked.  
  
Blaster’s posture vaguely deflated. “That was my way of sayin’ I miss the old you.”  
  
“An outdated, inaccurate sentiment you’ve already made clear on numerous occasions.”  Perceptor stared down at his energon. “At what point will you let it go?”  
  
“Probably never?” Blaster chuckled. “And for the record, I ask ‘cause I care.”  
  
Perceptor dimmed his optic. He’d been carefully walling himself in for some time now. To see Blaster’s persistence in the face of that fact was a little disconcerting. He didn’t want to be hurt again. Not physically. Not emotionally. Sealed away from the world with nothing more than his self-indulgent dreams of a long-dead mech was much safer. He preferred Blaster heeded the barrier and leave him be like everyone else had.  
  
Laughter echoed in the bar. They both glanced in the direction of the sound. Drift rocked back in his seat, shaking his head and laughing as Rodimus gesticulated in the air. Primus, when would this stop hurting? Being discarded had been hard enough to deal with, but seeing Drift so happy around Rodimus deeply stung. A reminder of what he’d had and lost.  
  
Snapping his attention back to his energon, Perceptor picked up the glass and gulped down the remainder of the fuel. He set the glass down on the table with a hard-sounding thunk and stood.  
  
Blaster stared up at him with bright optics.  
  
“Thank you for the company. I have some things to tend to back in my lab,” Perceptor turned and exited the bar.  
  
…  
  
“Lab time is scheduled, Brainstorm,” Perceptor said as he crossed his arms over his chest.  
  
“I already set up my experiment to test the samples from the Metrotitan,” Brainstorm replied with a small whine in his voice.  
  
Perceptor glanced at the small tubes lined up on the workbench and the various chemicals Brainstorm assembled. Shifting his gaze back to Brainstorm. “Next time, please be more aware of the schedule.”  
  
Brainstorm nodded fervently. “You want to stay and assist me? I was going to--”  
  
Perceptor turned toward the doorway to leave, not in the mood to listen to his colleague's condescension.  
  
“Maybe next time!” Brainstorm called out.  
  
With nowhere else to go, Perceptor found himself back in his quarters. He’d taken his rifle out, intending to clean and maintain it, but lost his will somewhere between setting it out on his desk and getting his tool kit out from the closet. He dropped the unopened kit on the floor beside the desk and wandered over to his berth to lay down.  
  
Staring up at the ceiling, he felt utterly numb. No desire to do anything really, except maybe recharge and hope for a visit from his mentally constructed version of Wing. It had been a few days since his last dream with the beautiful white jet. He wondered if there was a way to determine how those particular dreams were triggered. Preferring the company of an imaginary mech would probably be deemed sad or pathetic by his comrades. Perceptor sighed air from his intakes in a hiss. Maybe it was... Perhaps his mental stability was finally crumbling under the weight of his loneliness. It certainly didn’t seem healthy to harbor feelings for someone that was dead.  
  
Perceptor  suddenly and selfishly wished Rung wasn’t a vacant, barely functioning mech. A consultation with his former incarnation might have been helpful. He wondered what Rung might have said about his fantasy. He’d probably point out that due to that fact Perceptor was unable to have Drift, he had constructed an elaborate scenario with a similar looking replacement. That might be true to some extent, but that didn’t explain one thing: the talisman. The dreams might not be real, but that item certainly was. Proof that they’d met once. Reaching into his subspace pocket, he pulled it out and held it up. Examining it closely, he ran his fingers over the smooth metal, tracing the detailing. This was definitely real, even if the Wing in his dreams wasn’t.  
  
“How I wish I could cross time to see you again,” Perceptor said. He carefully placed the talisman on his chestplate, fingering it for a moment before he picked it back up and slipped it back into his subspace pocket.  
  
Exhausted by his own thoughts, he rolled to his side and offlined his optics, seeking escape from the waking world.  
  
…  
  
Laughing, Wing toppled backwards, pulling Perceptor with him. A mischievous grin on Wing’s lips had been the only momentary warning given before Perceptor’s helm was pulled down into a searing kiss. Stretching his own body out against Wing’s, Perceptor happily parted his lips in an open invitation. Glossa tangled between their hot, open mouths, relaying their shared passion for one another.  
  
Breaking the kiss, Perceptor lifted his head to gaze down into Wing’s brilliant golden optics.  
  
“Hello to you, too,” Perceptor said, smiling. A genuine, spark-felt smile. One that echoed the happiness now pulsing in his spark at seeing Wing.  
  
Wing traced his fingers down the sides of Perceptor’s helm. “You don’t smile nearly enough. It’s very becoming on you.”  
  
“I only ever want to smile when I’m with you,” Perceptor replied.  
  
Wing’s optics slightly dimmed. “I’m honored.”  
  
“I’m the honored one.” Perceptor leaned down, lightly planting a kiss to Wing’s crest, then trailing small feather-like kisses down his white nose-guard until he reached those perfect lips. He firmly pressed their mouths together again for another heated kiss, which Wing instantly responded in kind to.  
  
Perceptor loved how he felt around Wing. Free, lighter, loved. If only it were like this always. This sense of belonging. Feeling of being wanted not just for his abilities but for who he was.  
  
Wing drew back, this time ending the kiss. A delicate black finger drew a line down Perceptor’s side. “In the mood for something a little different?”  
  
Suppressing a shiver from the sensuous touch, Perceptor canted his head. He knew he was fairly conventional, and momentarily worried he was beginning to bore Wing. “What did you have in mind?”  
  
Wing didn’t reply. Instead, inexplicably the space around them moved, flipping their respective positions. The floor was suddenly at Perceptor’s back and Wing was the one laying over top of him. Wing then moved to straddle Perceptor’s hips, hands pressed to his shiny chestplate. “This?”  
  
Perceptor chuckled a little as he started to look around at the odd ecru-colored landscape around them. “How did you just flip everythin--”  
  
Wing pushed up on one knee just enough to allow his fingers to slip between them and snap open Perceptor’s interface cover. His graceful fingers curled around Perceptor’s partially erect spike, and squeezed it. A small trickle of mech fluid escaped, and Wing swept his thumb through it, spreading it over the head. “What did you just say?” Wing asked as he began to stroke it’s length.  
  
“I...” Perceptor’s optics flickered and dimmed, his desire clouding his processor and chasing coherent thought away. “...Don’t know.”  
  
“If it’s important, you’ll remember later,” Wing replied, teasing.  
  
Perceptor lazily smiled up at Wing. How in the world had he ended up with such amazing mech? His smile then faded a little as his previous scattered thoughts started to gather again. This place made no logical sense. And wasn’t Wing Drift’s mentor? Didn’t that mean he was--  
  
Slick heat enveloped Perceptor’s spike and he moaned, his questioning thoughts dispersing like smoke. He looked down across his body, watching as Wing lowered himself down, fingers carefully guiding his spike inside. Wing’s heated valve fit snugly around him.The erotic sight and sensation both stimulating his sensory net and processor at the same time caused him to shiver.  
  
“So pretty,” Wing commented, pressing his hands flat over Perceptor’s abdomen.  
  
“You certainly are,” Perceptor said, his voice throaty with desire.  
  
“I meant you,” Wing replied, laughing a little.  
  
Perceptor lifted his gaze from where their bodies were joined to Wing’s smiling visage. His golden optics glimmered with an almost unnatural luminance. Wing was most definitely the beautiful one between them.  
  
Gently rocking his hips, Wing moved with a practiced ease. Perceptor awkwardly tried to lift his hips in rhythm, but found lacked Wing’s grace of tempo.  
  
“Stay still. Let me do this for you,” Wing replied.  
  
Not used to being offered anything, let alone something like this, Perceptor felt his faceplates heat. “Just watch?” he asked, unsure.  
  
Wing reached down, taking one of Perceptor’s hands and placing it on his hip. “And touch?” he said, half asking and half offering.  
  
Perceptor smiled a little and nodded as he slowly moved his hands up Wing’s body on each side. Wing resumed rolling his hips, which sent more shivers up Perceptor’s spinal struts. Connected to this beautiful mech, observing while running his hands over intricate, ancient armor, Perceptor finally stopped questioning and gave in. Letting go of his usual tight-lidded control and bending to Wing’s desire. It felt strangely liberating.  
  
One of Perceptor’s wandering hands eventually found it’s way to Wing’s erect spike and he gently squeezed it as Wing rocked over top of him.  
  
Wing’s optics darkened in hue as he smiled down at Perceptor. “Found something interesting?”  
  
“It would appear so,” Perceptor replied.  
  
Wing laughed, a light airy sound, then picked up his pace, fingers holding fast to Perceptor’s waist just below his coolant hoses.  
  
In no time, they’d reached a fevered pitch. Perceptor found it impossible to stay completely still, moving his hips upward as best he could in time with Wing’s actions. The visual of Wing’s entire body in motion, arching his chest forward with each roll of his hips, and his erect spike pushing in and out of Perceptor’s grasping fingers, had to be the most erotic sight he’d ever witnessed. Heat swirled and moved down his spike as it was kneaded inside Wing’s silken valve. Pushed to the cusp of overloading, he keened.  
  
Wing then tilted his head back, mouth gaped open in a soundless moan as his valve contracted and his whole body shuddered. Perceptor moaned in response, overload forcing his spike to release it’s contents inside Wing, just as the spike in his grasp spilled a hot, messy line over his abdomen.  
  
Once the last shudders of pleasure faded from the graceful white frame over him, Wing rolled his head forward, offering a sated-looking smile before moving to drape his limp frame over Perceptor. A comfortable silence stretched on between them, the euphoria of the moment quietly ebbing away. He felt so at ease with Wing. If only he could always be with him.  
  
Wing turned his head so he could press a kiss to Perceptor’s jaw. “That was... lovely.”  
  
Perceptor sighed, feeling truly contented as he drank in the view of Wing’s body tangled with his own. White and red accented armor, against his dark red and turquoise. Pointed, thin plating surrounded by his harder edged design. He then looked beyond where they lay, seeing the odd space that stretched on infinitely around them. He vaguely frowned. Where were they precisely? This space. Wing had literally flipped it earlier, hadn’t he? His thoughts, initially scattered by Wing’s actions began to reform again. A puzzle he realized he’d been trying to put together for sometime. Pieces that were all now lining up.  
  
Wing pushed himself up, head propped on one hand. Reaching out, he trailed his delicate black fingers down the side of Perceptor’s face, drawing his attention back to him.  
  
“Wing?” Perceptor said in a questioning tone.  
  
“I know what you want to ask,” Wing replied. “But, I think it would be better if you--”  
  
“You’re Drift’s mentor. That means you’re dead,” Perceptor said, interrupting. “You’re just a dream. Something I’ve created as a coping mechanism.”  
  
“No, I’m not.” Wing’s face took on an unusually serious expression. Golden optics shining with sadness. “I’m not dead. I’m always with you.”  
  
Confused, Perceptor shook his head.  
  
Wing sadly smiled. “We’ll talk about it another time. Right now, you need to wake up.”  
  
“Wait!” Perceptor said as he bolted upright in his berth. “No...” he whispered, glancing around his quarters. His rifle sat where he’d left it on his desk. His tool kit on the floor. Looking down at himself, he frowned. Interface cover retracted and abdomen splattered with cycled mech fluid. “Another dream.”  
  
This felt different than the other times, though. Wing’s strange declaration he wasn’t dead was unsettling. Why had he said that? Was Perceptor so invested in this imaginary Wing his offline mind was trying to make him real? Perceptor heaved a thick sigh of air through his intakes in frustration.  
  
He turned to grab a drying cloth off his berthside table and froze with his arm outstretched. On top the neatly folded cloth, as if it had been carefully placed there, sat the small jet-shaped talisman Wing gave him. But he’d put it back in his subspace pocket. He was sure he had. What was going on? Was he now not only self-pleasuring while offline, but moving around items? Or was this Wing’s doing? Had he told the truth about not being dead?  
  
Perceptor picked up the small object and held in it in the palm of his hand. “Either I’m going mad, or there is something greater going on here.” He wasn’t sure which he rather be true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no clue if I will continue to add anymore. My idea of how this universe works and the fake!science is sort of weak in my opinion. But who knows.


	4. Blocked Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inching towards understanding or is Perceptor losing his grip on reality?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning: Fake!Science is bad and lame. I apologize...   
> No beta, comma/grammar abuse ahead.

It was maddening. The lab, _his_ lab, had been left in complete disarray after Brainstorm’s experiments.   
  
Heaving an annoyed sigh, Perceptor surveyed the scene then set to work cleaning up. He first closed all the open chemical containers and put them back in the proper storage area. He then collected all the tools that were strewn about and returned them to the proper cabinet, frowning when he noticed the tips to one of his favorite pair of tweezers were melted. By the time he was scrubbing down the workbench with a neutralizing solution, he was mentally cursing his colleague.   
  
“Uh, Perceptor?”  
  
That voice. Perceptor forced his emotions down deep, schooling his face to appear calm and detached as he turned to face Drift. “May I help you?”  
  
Drift’s lips pursed, then he smiled, but it looked forced. “Yeah. Came looking for the report on the engines’ condition. Ultra Magnus wanted all the reports in for a review and I don’t have that one from you after our little incident.”  
  
Perceptor hadn’t done it yet. It wasn’t like him to skip assigned duties, but he’d been having a rough time focusing or caring about much of anything lately. “I will have it for you by tomorrow.”  
  
Drift nodded. “Thanks. I’d really appreciate it. Magnus can be a bit...”  
  
“Pedantic?” Perceptor offered.  
  
Snorting a laugh, Drift nodded. “Yeah, something like that.”  
  
They stared at one another for an awkward moment. There was so much left unsaid in the wake of Drift leaving the Wreckers without so much as a farewell. Perceptor nervously fingered the solution-dipped cloth, wishing he was more the type of mech to just say how he felt. Instead, he found himself at a complete loss for words in Drift’s presence.    
  
“Well, I’ll check back later,” Drift said.   
  
Perceptor nodded.   
  
Tipping his head to Perceptor, Drift spun around and exited the lab. The sway of his walk was mesmerizing to watch, especially in his newest frame design. Once he was gone, Perceptor glanced down at his own clunky frame and frowned. He felt ugly inside and out. Unwanted. Unnecessary unless he served a purpose, like checking over the ship’s engines.   
  
“Accept it and move on,” he told himself. “It was never meant to be.” _Be happy with your delusion of Wing_ , he thought. At least in his dreams he wasn’t alone.  
  
Turning back to the workbench, intending to finish his task, his gaze landed on an out of place object. At the very center of the bench sat the talisman. _Wing’s gift?_  
  
“That’s _impossible_.” He reached into his sub-space pocket, feeling around but it was empty. He knew he’d put in there the night before after waking from his dream. This had to be some sort of trick or maybe a joke. Plucking the item off the workbench, he squeezed it in his hand, feeling it’s solid weight. Wing said he wasn’t dead the night before. Was he the one moving the talisman? Perceptor shook his head. It went against everything he knew of their universe and it’s mechanics. The dead moving an object was _impossible_. Wasn’t it?   
  
…  
  
“Weird thing about it, every once in a while the sample particles from the Metrotitan moved.” Brainstorm hadn’t been the least bit remorseful when Perceptor addressed the issue of the lab’s condition. Instead he nodded at Perceptor then launched into telling all about what he’d been doing to make such a mess. “I don’t mean they scooted across the slide, no. They disappeared then reappeared elsewhere. It was crazy!”  
  
Turning in his seat, with the full intention of asking Brainstorm to leave, he paused as his comrade’s words sunk in and suddenly piqued his interest. “Disappeared and reappeared?” Perceptor asked. Like his jet-shaped talisman?  
  
“Yeah! I put the samples in all these differing compounds, trying to track the movement, but nothing worked. The particles were moving without leaving a trace,” Brainstorm said, his excitement building now that he had Perceptor’s attention.   
  
“Even our space bridge jumping technology leaves a trail in space of distorted photons and waves of heat,” Perceptor replied.  
  
“I know. I tried every compound I could think of to stick to them in order to get a reading. Nothing worked. It’s like they are jumping around in space or even time itself! Never seen anything like it,” Brainstorm replied, his visor shining brightly.   
  
Jumping in time... “Fascinating.” Was that how the talisman was moving on it’s own? It had crossed through time itself. The mysterious phenomenon mirrored in Brainstorm’s testing helped ease Perceptor’s mind a little. At least he wasn’t losing his grip on reality and there might be a viable explanation as to how the jet was appearing places seemingly of its own volition. He would have to do some of his own testing in order to find out more.   
  
…  
  
Wing’s whole body arched forward. His curved, elegant form taught with anticipation. There was something undeniably exquisite about having Wing on his hands and knees in front of Perceptor like this. He lifted the back section of Wing’s skirting up with one hand, while fingering the open, exposed valve with the other. Wing’s valve tightened around his probing finger tips. It was too much to resist, the inviting posture Wing was in, the way his body responded to his touches. Perceptor moved into position, the head of his spike making contact and slipping just past the opening.   
  
“I’m yours,” Wing said, his voice airy and seductive.   
  
Perceptor sunk himself into that silky, heated valve until he was fully seated inside. The mesh walls quivered around him, but he didn’t move. Not yet. He wanted to enjoy this feeling of connection. Relish the beautiful sight of their bodies linked.   
  
Glancing over his shoulder, Wing’s optics deepened in hue. “Please?”  
  
Perceptor nodded, then moved, pistoning his hips as he began to glide in and out of that snug, hot space. Wing rocked in time with Perceptor, little moaned sounds escaping his vocalizer each time they connected. Wanting and being wanted. Emotion and physical lust melding into one shared moment of passion. This was worth living for. All the loneliness he endured made this time with Wing all the sweeter.  
  
Leaning forward, Perceptor pressed one hand flat to the ground beside Wing, while draping his larger frame over him and wrapping his free arm around Wing’s middle. It felt more intimate this way with their heated bodies pressed close. He resumed his previous pace, rolling his hips forward, pushing his spike deeper with each thrust. Wing keened, his arms trembling below him, his folded wings quivering between them. Perceptor nuzzled the back of Wing’s neck.   
  
“Perceptor,” Wing said, voice hoarse with his desire. “Am I the one?”  
  
“The one?” Perceptor asked, his mind clouded with arousal as he tried to make sense of the question.  
  
“The one you want to be with?” Wing asked. A strange tinge of insecurity edged into his voice.  
  
“Of course you are,” Perceptor replied, his confusion swirling in a haze around him. They were in the middle of interfacing. Why in the name of Primus would Wing ask him such a question?   
  
Wing moaned, his fingers curling into balls against the ground. “Show me!”  
  
He intensified his efforts and quickened his pace. Heat rolled off Perceptor’s frame as he laid claim to Wing with each hard thrust, taking everything this beautiful mech offered. No one else had been able to breach the walls around him. No one else had treated Perceptor with such care and affection. No one else would ever mean to him what Wing did...  
  
Wing’s body stiffened, his valve gripping down on Perceptor’s spike and squeezing. Overload then seized him, intense and overwhelming in force as his spike exploded inside Wing’s body. A needful-sounding moan poured from Perceptor’s vocalizer as the climax of the moment stretched on longer than he expected. He trembled against Wing as it came to a crescendoed end. Wing’s arms gave way under their combined weight and he gracefully collapsed to the ground, taking Perceptor down with him. They stayed where they landed in heated heap, motionless.    
  
Wing eventually moved first, attempting to shift from his front to his side, but caught under Perceptor’s larger body. Not wanting to keep him pinned, Perceptor rolled to his side, allowing Wing to twist himself around so he could face Perceptor. Wing smiled, his optics incandescent and shimmering with all his joy.   
  
How this mech could make his spark feel so full and so light, Perceptor would never truly know. He reached up, lightly running his fingers down the side of Wing’s face plate. Slowly, his thoughts strayed from lofty emotions to more pragmatic questions. Like, how did he arrive at this place? And what was this space? Things he knew he’d wondered before, but couldn’t quite put all the pieces of his thoughts together. All he knew for sure was that something about this wasn’t right.   
  
That was when he remembered. The last time he was here he’d discovered this was just dream. And when he confronted Wing about being dead, he’d--  
  
“We should talk.” Wing tipped his head forward, planting a small kiss to the tip of Perceptor’s nose. “You’re remembering the last time we were here. The last time I told you that I wasn’t dead.”  
  
Perceptor’s optics flared brightly with his surprise. “How could you have known that?”   
  
“Because, at the moment, we are connected through our sparks.” Wing sighed and sadly smiled.   
  
“That’s not possible,” Perceptor replied.   
  
“It is. And it’s why I can sense your thoughts when you’re with me here,” Wing replied.  
  
A different kind of confusion clouded Perceptor’s mind. He pushed to sit up, looking around the strange infinite space around them. “Here? Where is here, precisely?”  
  
Wing sat up, too, and reached over, lacing their fingers together. “It’s a long story.”  
  
Perceptor vaguely frowned as glanced down at their hands. Wing felt real enough. His hand was warm, his touch solid. “This place feels real, yet it’s not possible to hold hands with a dead mech. To interface with a dead mech.”  
  
“I told you I’m not dead. And it is real here. I am not a delusion. I am very real,” Wing replied.    
  
Looking up, Perceptor vaguely shook his head. “How am I to accept those assertions without proof?”  
  
“I suppose you can’t. But I can try and explain?” Wing replied, canting his head and smiling. “This ‘space’ is the piece of time we broke when we met. Upon my body’s death I was trapped in here. Hurled to the moment we initially met in your time string. I’ve learned to manipulate this place. Mold it. See through it, but no matter what I do I can’t escape it. All I can do is bring you here when you’re offlined by touching our sparks,” Wing replied.   
  
Through their sparks? Piece of broken time? Perceptor frowned. “That sounds... very unlikely.”  
  
“Let me show you something. Here, stand up,” Wing replied.   
  
They both got to their feet, and Wing squeezed Perceptor’s hand. “I’ll make it so you can see through the walls from this piece of time to yours. Ready?”  
  
Perceptor nodded, trying not to make a face at how ludicrous that sounded.   
  
Wing’s optics dimmed and the bright infinite space around them darkened. Suddenly, through the darkness he saw they were standing beside a berth. An offlined mech was curled up on his side in a berth, with the faint glow of cycled mech fluid next to him... “That’s me,” Perceptor said, his mind bending to wrap itself around what he was seeing.   
  
“Since my body’s death, I’ve been in this place. Time moves forward and I can see it, and I exist alongside it, but I can’t reach it.” Wing sighed. “I knew using the cursed relic to see you was a risk, but I had no idea this would be the result. Even so, I don’t regret it.” Wing then glanced at Perceptor, optics shimmering. “Since arriving here, I’ve been at your side, even if you can’t see me there.”  
  
It was fantastical. Unreal. Illogical. Yet, Perceptor found a part of him wanting to believe. Wanting it to be true that Wing had been there with him. “But how have you been able to pull me into this dreamscape? Into this piece of time?”  
  
A guilty look swept Wing’s face. “I discovered the ability to do this by accident.” He glanced down Perceptor’s body on the berth. “To say this place is lonely is an understatement. Out of desperation one evening, I laid down beside you on the berth, then moved closer to pretend to lie against you. Silly seeing as I can’t even touch you from here. But when I did that, your spark and mine somehow connected and I was able to bring you here.”  
  
Interesting. Perceptor wondered if their ability to connect here was the result of their initial meeting through time? Or if Wing might be able to link to others in a similar way?    
  
Turning, Wing moved to face Perceptor, snaking his arms around his waist and hugging him. Perceptor wrapped his arms around Wing’s smaller form and stared into his mesmerizing golden optics. Despite the overriding lack of evidence and logic, he wanted Wing to be real. For everything said to somehow be true.   
  
“Wing, I...” Perceptor trailed off, unsure what he should say. Should he admit his feelings? Admit his doubts?  
  
“I’ll give you what proof I can in your space of time.” Wing stood up on his toes, pressing their lips together in a gentle, loving kiss. Perceptor dimmed his optics, enjoying the affection offered and happily returning it. Wing broke their short kiss, and stared deeply into Perceptor’s optics. “In the meantime, you should wake up.”  
  
“Wait! Not yet!” Perceptor onlined in his berth with a start. His time with Wing at it’s usual abrupt end. Heaving a sigh, Perceptor dimmed his optics. “I didn’t want to leave yet...” Unlike the warmth and light of that dream space, his quarters felt cold and austere. He flopped onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. His time offline with Wing had, over the last few weeks, become a safe haven. A place to shed his emotional barriers and be accepted just as he was. Returning to this dark place in ‘his time’ as Wing called it made his spark ache. He wanted it all to be true. For  what Wing had described to be real. He wanted more than anything to believe that he wasn’t alone, even if he couldn’t see the mech that had come to mean the world to him.  
  
What is real? What isn’t? Was he losing his mind? Or was he really falling in love with a mech trapped in a piece of fractured time? One thing he knew for sure: tomorrow he was going to run experiments on those particles and his gifted talisman to try and find some proof one way or the other. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I already know what I want to write for the next part. So much for this not being a longer fic? ^^;


	5. Knit Two Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More answers lead to more questions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Fake!Science is fake. Welcome to my head. Overly sweet as per usual. Not the best writing ever, but oh well.

Datapad in hand, Perceptor made notes as he inspected the ship’s engines. His mind wasn’t focused on the task at hand, though. Instead, he was trying to reason out what Wing had told him the night before. There were so many things he couldn’t quite wrap his mind around, like how Wing felt completely solid to him there. But that would be the case if it were a dream, wouldn’t it? He could imagine it to be as real as he wanted it. So had what happened been real or not? Perceptor couldn’t decide based on what he knew. Especially without solid proof.  
  
He cycled a sigh of air through his intakes, realizing he’d been staring at the same gauge for some time without making note of the reading. “Focus,” he said to himself.  
  
After tapping the numbers from the reading into his datapad, he walked around the other side of the large, round engine turbine to check the fuel levels on the small computerized screen. He glanced up, then down at his datapad to record what he saw before doing a double take. His gaze shot back up to the small screen, well the top edge of it.  
  
Neatly placed so the nose of the jet pointed toward him, sat the talisman.  
  
There was no doubt in his mind that that it had been in his sub-space pocket before he left his quarters in the morning. Reaching up, he removed it from where it sat. He turned it over in his hand several times.    
  
 _“I’ll give you what proof I can in your space of time.”_  
  
Was this Wing’s doing? His way of showing Perceptor he wasn’t some fantasy?  
  
Perceptor looked around, despite knowing he wouldn’t see anything, then slipped it back into his sub-space. “I’ve put it back,” he said as he moved to the next engine turbine. “I challenge you to move it again.” If he was going to be ridiculous about this, may as well go for broke.  
  
At the next engine turbine, he once again checked the gauges, recording each one, then walked to the other side to see the fuel levels. The datapad in his hand went slack. Once again, the jet-shaped talisman sat with its nose pointed toward him atop the computerized screen. “Impossible,” he whispered as he picked it up. He turned around, looking out across the engine room. Was someone playing a joke on him? Staring intently into the cavernous space filled with endless pipes and ducts, he saw no movement. He turned up the gain on his audios, but heard nothing more than the rolling hum of the engines. He was alone. Was his delusion now bleeding into his waking world? Or could it be that Wing was real?  
  
“Am I losing my mind?” He whispered as he shoved small item back into his sub-space pocket. “Or are you real?” No audible answer came, not that he expected one.  
  
Gathering himself, he moved to the last engine turbine to be checked. He immediately circled to the fuel screen, but the jet was not there this time. Disappointed, he frowned.  
  
Echoed steps caught his attention and he glanced up, his spark contracting in his chest as his gaze settled on a small, elegant form.  
  
Drift descended the stairs that led into the engine room.  
  
“Hello, Drift.”  
  
“Hey there,” Drift replied. “I stopped by the lab, but you weren’t there. Figured you might be here.”  
  
Perceptor nodded, attempting to hide his emotions and seem completely impassive. “I am almost finished.”  
  
“Great.” Drift smiled. “Been avoiding Magnus best I could since yesterday.”  
  
It almost hurt, seeing Drift talk to him this way. As if they’d always just been colleagues and nothing more.  
  
“Let me just get the last readings,” Perceptor said. He moved to the front side of the turbine, copying down the various tidbits of information. He finished recording the information and saved the file.  
  
Drift lightly tapped his fingers on his sword hilts, while glancing around at the turbines. Bored or else genuinely interested, Perceptor wasn’t really sure. Drift had always been so hard for him to read. Perceptor’s gaze then wandered over the lines of Drift’s new frame. It was certainly very striking, especially with the prominent red and white markings along his middle. His coloring reminded him a lot of Wing.  
  
Out of nowhere, something fell from up high, hitting Drift directly on the head.  
  
“Oww!” Drift yelped. “What the?”  
  
To Perceptor’s shock, the item that bounced onto the floor was the talisman. He moved swiftly, swiping the item up before Drift saw it.  
  
“What was that?” Drift asked, frowning.  
  
“A piece of metal from the ceiling, I believe,” Perceptor replied, squeezing it in his hand.  
  
Drift looked up, optics bright. “I don’t see where anything could be dislodged from.”  
  
With Drift distracted, Perceptor quickly slipped the talisman back into his sub-space again, this time hoping it would stay put. “You weren’t harmed, were you?” Perceptor asked.  
  
Rubbing his helm crest, Drift shook his head. “Nah. I’m fine.”  
  
“Well then. Here is the report,” Perceptor held out the datapad with his collected information.  
  
“Thanks,” Drift replied, taking it. He then smiled at Perceptor, optics shining brightly. “You know, I hardly see you around. Should come to the bar more often and hang out with us.”  
  
Wounds were cut deep, not by swords but Drift’s words. The worst part was, Perceptor knew Drift meant well. That he was trying to mend things in his own way. It was just that, they were so very different in almost every way.  
  
“I’ll consider it,” Perceptor politely replied.  
  
Drift nodded. “I hope you do.” Awkwardness then hung between them, thick and uncomfortable. “Well, ah, I need to hand this in. I’ll see you.” Drift nodded a farewell and then made his way up the stairs to leave the engine room, but stopped halfway up. “What’s this? Looks like a small jet or something?”  
  
Perceptor stuck his hand into his sub-space pocket, finding it empty. Panic gripped his spark as he made long strides toward the stairs.  
  
Examining the small talisman, Drift canted his head. “Looks old, too.”  
  
“It’s mine,” Perceptor blurted.  
  
Drift raised an optic ridge at Perceptor. “It’s sitting on the stairs.”  
  
“I realize that,” Perceptor replied, scrambling for an excuse. “It’s metallic make-up affects the gauges on the engines, so I left it there until I was finished.” Lame, but he hoped Drift would buy it.  
  
“Why are you carrying a small metal jet around?” Drift asked, looking unconvinced.  
  
Lying was never his strong suit. Reluctantly, Perceptor decided to tell the truth... “It was given to me as a symbol of protection and luck. I carry it around with me out of respect for the one that gave it to me.” … Just omit the large detail of who that mech was.  
  
A small smile curved Drift’s lips. “You almost sound like--” Drift shook his head. “Eh, not important. Here.” He dropped down the stairs between them and placed it in the palm of Perceptor’s hand.  
  
“Thank you,” Perceptor replied, relieved it was back in his possession.  
  
“Sure thing.” A quick nod, and Drift turned, dashing up the stairs and out of the engine room with the report.  
  
Perceptor opened his hand, and stared down at the talisman. “I believe you, Wing.” The question now was, what would he do about it?  
  
…  
  
It had been hours. Perceptor’s optics were starting to lose focus as he tried to continue reading through all the information he’d compiled on String Theory and Brainstorm’s experiments. He felt no closer than before to understanding how the talisman could be influenced by Wing. Or how Perceptor could be pulled into the fracture of time Wing existed in.  
  
Frustrated and tired, he eventually gave up for the evening and closed up the lab. His mind felt full to the brim with information he was trying to process. Like a fog that wouldn’t lift, only grow thicker the more he tried to think it all through.  
  
Back in his quarters, he laid down on his berth. He wanted answers and there was only one mech that could provide them: Wing. His gaze wandered his quarters, searching for a shadow or some sort of indication that Wing was here with him, but there was nothing.  
  
“I have questions. Questions I believe only you can answer,” he said to the empty room, hoping that Wing would hear him. Dimming his optics, he relaxed. “If you help me understand, I may be able to help you.” He offlined his optics, and relaxed. Exhaustion seeped into his body now that his mind was finally winding down. The waking world soon slipped away.  
  
…  
  
Perceptor sat in a large white recliner, with Wing straddling his lap. He stared into mesmerizing golden optics, lost in the expanses of light and space they so neatly managed to encompass.  
  
Wing’s hands pressed to Perceptor’s chest. “If you want answers, you need to ask questions.”  
  
Furrowing his brow, Perceptor frowned at Wing. “Questions?”  
  
“Whenever I bring you in here, you’re always disoriented. Just try and remember what you were thinking before. I’m happy to answer what I can,” Wing replied.  
  
Think about before... Perceptor dimmed his optics, focusing on his last memories. He’d been reading up on some subject. What was it?  
  
Wing answered the unspoken question. “About how time functions.”    
  
Perceptor’s attention snapped back to Wing’s face. “Right. This is a piece of fractured time.”  
  
Wing nodded, his usual smile absent. He looked serious and businesslike. Out of nowhere, the image of the talisman hitting Drift in the head flickered and faded in Perceptor’s mind.  
  
“You dropped the small jet on Drift. Was that on purpose?” Perceptor asked.  
  
“Not the question I was expecting,” Wing replied, his mouth curving into a small frown. “Yes.”  
  
“Were you _jealous_?” Perceptor asked.  
  
“I saw how you looked at him. I...” Wing’s focus dropped down. “I can’t be what he is.”  
  
Canting his head, Perceptor frowned. “‘Be what he is’? And what is that?”  
  
“Real. There with you. I wish--” Wing’s fingers curled into fists against Perceptor’s chest, as he looked back up at Perceptor. “-- I could be there with you.”  
  
That’s when Perceptor remembered. He wanted to free Wing from this place. But he couldn’t without knowing more about how Wing had managed to cross time in the first place. He slid his arms around Wing’s smaller form in a loose hug. “I want you there with me. And so you know, I was simply noticing how much he now looks like you.”  
  
Wing’s optics flared then dimmed, a guilty look washing over his features. “I apologize. I don’t mean to be petty.”  
  
Perceptor reached up with one hand, cupping Wing’s face. “You are anything but petty. I didn’t mean to upset you, and I very much want to free you of this place. But, you need to tell me more about how you crossed to see me that first time.”  
  
Nodding, Wing’s optics dimmed. “I used a relic we had possession of. It was rumored to be cursed.”  
  
Lowering his arm, Perceptor found his ability to focus sharpening as he listened to Wing. The longer he was here, the more he seemed to adapt to it.  
  
“The mech that packed it for travel disappeared just days after setting it up in our storehouse in the New Crystal City.”  
  
“Interesting. No traces at all?” Perceptor asked.  
  
“None. He just vanished. The relic was called the ‘Time keeper’. Dai Atlas refused to let anyone touch it again, and it was sealed away in that room of the storehouse,” Wing replied.  
  
“You touched it?”  
  
“Yes.” Wing sadly smiled. “I broke rules laid down by Dai Atlas when the circumstances called for it, including saving Drift’s life. Doing that meant he’d live on to save yours. When I was called to see the oracle and told of my two paths, I knew the right thing to do was to give up my life. That was the only way those around me would truly change. Still, the guilt about sacrificing my ability to help you for the greater good weighed on me. I broke into the sealed room.”  
  
The amount of selflessness and caring Wing embodied seemed almost unreal. Perceptor had never known anyone so intent on doing right by those around him before. He gently squeezed Wing in his arms, eliciting a small smile.  
  
“Would you be able tell me what this relic looked like?” Perceptor asked.  
  
“It was very large. About twice my height. It looked like an ordinary long table, but had thousands of small filaments running parallel down the length of it. When I walked into the room, one of the filaments lit up. I just knew that was the string of time I existed in. I moved closer, and saw a strange discolored mark.” Wing’s gaze locked with Perceptor’s. “I touched it. And then I was then standing there with you.”  
  
“The discolor was the point in time the Metrotitan was shrunk.” Perceptor dimmed his optics, trying to understand how something such as this relic could even exist. How the mech that had moved it disappeared completely. Why it was that Wing’s body had died and yet he was still here in this fracture.  
  
“The rest you already know, I think,” Wing said. “I’ve searched this place. I see no way to leave. I’m trapped here. I suppose at the very least I seem to never need of fuel or anything like that.”  
  
Also interesting. He didn’t need to fuel here? Something Perceptor hadn’t considered. “How are you able to move the talisman?”  
  
“I can call it to me then place where I want. It’s the only thing where you are I can affect.” Wing then smiled, his optics brightening. “Well, sort of. Clearly interfacing here, also affects your body there.”  
  
Perceptor sheepishly smiled back. “It certainly does.”  
  
Wing leaned forward, pressing his helm to Perceptor’s. “I don’t think it’s possible to leave this place, but I worry about keeping you here for long periods. It’s why I send you back when you start to become more lucid, like you are now.”  
  
Tipping his head, Wing planted his lips over Perceptor’s in a kiss. Hugging Wing close, Perceptor parted his mouth, and Wing’s glossa slipped past. They met between, twinning.  
  
Whether Perceptor ended up trapped here for an eternity with Wing, or if he could find a way to pull Wing free from this place, one way or another, he wanted to be with this mech _always_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More to come. Something vaguely resembling a plot developed. o__O


	6. Purl Side Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time turned inside out and suddenly everything changes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wheeee! That last of fake!science! But it's still totally fake and ridiculous. Sorry about that. Also, no beta and lots of grammar abuse ahead. *hides*

Perceptor stared at the computer screen, scrolling through all his gathered data. He was deeply lost in his thoughts on time theory and personal conjecture about Wing’s situation. To ensure there were no Brainstorm interruptions, he’d taken the extra precaution of locking himself inside his lab. This way, he hoped to better focus and hopefully determine how to go about freeing Wing.  
  
The door chimed, breaking through his thick haze of thoughts. He glanced at the small window, seeing the outline of their chief medic.  
  
“Open up! You’ve been in here for almost 36 hours!” Ratchet shouted.  
  
Perceptor frowned. Had it been that long? He pushed to stand, his joints protesting his movement with a painful ache. Oh yes, he’d been sitting for much longer than he should have. He stiffly walked to the door, unlocking the seal and allowing the door to open.  
  
“What the slag are you doing? Have you recharged at all? Fueled?” Ratchet asked, arms crossed over his chest.  
  
“No,” Perceptor replied.  
  
“I had Drift all up in my face about you not leaving this lab. Do us _both_ a favor, get some fuel and go recharge,” Ratchet said, a deep frown etched on his faceplates.  
  
“Drift?” Perceptor asked, confused as to why he’d even noticed let alone said something to Ratchet.  
  
“Yeah. Now _go_.” Ratchet pointed down the hallway.  
  
Perceptor glanced over his shoulder at his computer screen.  
  
“This is not optional. If you don’t go now I will go find big and orderly and send him down here to recite all the codes you’re breaking.” Ratchet grabbed Perceptor’s arm, pulling him into the hallway.  
  
Last thing he needed was Ultra Magnus around questioning what he was doing. “No need for that,” Perceptor replied.  
  
“Good.” Ratchet wiggled a pointed finger. “Go.”  
  
…  
  
Perceptor sat on his berth, having just finished a second ration of energon. He was more under fueled than he realized. It was curious to him that Drift was the one to notice he’d been holed up in his lab and then brought it to Ratchet’s attention. That held added an complication he rather not consider. It was much easier being invisible to Drift. He sighed air from his intakes. Besides, he had much more pressing issue at hand: freeing Wing.  
  
He glanced out over his room. “You here?” he asked.  
  
Something moved in the corner of his field of vision. He stood and walked over to his desk. On the chair sat the talisman, which he knew had been in his subspace pocket earlier. He picked it up, and squeezed it in his hand. He desperately wanted to bring Wing here. Somehow merge that time fracture back into this thread of time. He just didn’t know how he could do it. He glanced down at the jet in the palm of his hand.  
  
Wait...  
  
This jet moved between the fracture and here freely. Wing said he’d simply call to it and it would be in his hand. What if there were a way to keep it in this thread, and have it pull Wing here instead of vice versa.  
  
Perceptor set the small, metal jet down on his desk.  
  
“Will you do me a favor? Move it while I watch?” Perceptor said out loud.  
  
He stared intently at it, seeing a flicker around it before it suddenly disappeared. The sound of something clinking on the berth behind him caused him to whirl around. Dead center of his berth sat in the talisman.  
  
That flicker. What had it been?  
  
“Would you mind moving it again, please?” Perceptor asked as he walked over to the berth.  
  
Another flicker and the talisman disappeared. It reappeared on the berthside table. Perceptor picked it up, holding it flat in his palm of his hand.  
  
“Once more, but if you can slow the movement, please try,” Perceptor asked of his invisible companion.  
  
In his hand he saw the flicker as the talisman disappeared again, except up close he saw It wasn’t a flicker at all. It was Wing’s black fingers. He’d felt them against his hand, grasping the talisman. The implications were almost processor breaking. This meant Wing’s body there was in fact real, as Perceptor suspected. That threw into question how it was he was able to be there with Wing while recharging. Was the body he inhabited there real as well? Or would it only become real once he was disconnected from this body? That wasn’t a test he willing to risk running, but it did give him all the more reason to want to pull that fracture of time into this thread again. Otherwise he might also end up trapped in that space if his body here died.  
  
Staring down his open hand, he realized Wing hadn’t placed the talisman any where. “Are you able to place in my hand?”  
  
The shadow of black fingers uncurled in his hand, exposing the small, metal jet.  
  
This talisman meant bring luck and protection held the potential for so much more. Perceptor had a feeling it was the key to bringing the pieces of time back together, and, more importantly, free Wing of his cage.  
  
…  
  
“You believe if you hold the talisman in your time, you can pull me into your thread?” Wing asked.  
  
Perceptor nodded. “To pull this entire fracture into the thread, to be more accurate.”  
  
They stood facing one another in the blank space. Wing seemed unsure, but also willing to trust Perceptor.  
  
“I still need to figure out how to lock the talisman in my time thread so I can accomplish the task,” Perceptor replied.  
  
Wing stepped closer, placing his hands on Perceptor’s hips. He smiled, his golden optics bright and full of hope. “If anyone can figure it out, I know it’s you.”  
  
“The lingering question is whether this is what you truly want. There will be numerous complications if we are successful and you are able re-enter the thread,” Perceptor replied. He reached up, brushing the back of his fingers down Wing’s face.  
  
“Such as?” Wing asked, pressing his face to press against Perceptor’s fingers.  
  
“Explaining your sudden appearance will be difficult for many of them to grasp.” Perceptor dimmed his optics. “In addition, I imagine your former relationship as mentor to Drift might pose it’s own issues, though, I could be wrong about that.”  
  
“I’m willing to face anything if it means I can be at your side. I have confidence that together we can help them understand and accept.” Wing’s smile faded, replaced by determined look. “And when it comes to Drift, I’ll speak with him. I don’t see it being a problem.”  
  
Perceptor had no idea what he’d done to earn the devotion of this mech. He was deeply humbled and honored, though. Leaning forward, he pressed their forehelms together, gazing into the liquid seas of gold that were Wing’s optics. “I will find a way to free you.”  
  
“I know you will,” Wing replied. He then tipped his head up and their lips met in a soft-mouthed kiss, sealing their promise. Pulling back, Wing’s expression shifted again, this time looking concerned. “You haven’t properly rested in some time, and it worries me how lucid you are right now. Usually when you arrive here you are far more disoriented.”  
  
Perceptor nodded. He’d never entered this place as clear headed as he was now. His lack of a proper recharge may very well be to blame.  
  
“I think you should get some much needed rest.” Wing pressed a kiss to the tip of Perceptor’s nose. “But first you’ll need to wake up.”  
  
Perceptor onlined his berth with a start, and stared into the darkness around him. He rolled to his side and stretched his arm out across the berth, reaching for a Wing he knew was there but couldn’t see. That was far too short a time with Wing for his liking, but he understood the concern. Exhaustion seeped into his frame, and he curled in on himself, letting his optics flicker off. He at least took some measure of comfort in knowing that Wing was here with him, even if unseen, as he drifted offline.  
  
…  
  
Perceptor set the talisman on a small square table. He needed to do more testing on how he and Wing interacted on this time thread. He chose third shift for his testing, when most of the crew were offlined in their quarters. This way no one would see him talking to thin air in his lab as he interacted with Wing.  
  
He held up a scanner, readying himself to take various readings. He wanted to measure the amount of light, temperature, electromagnetic field fluctuations, and whether the protons around it were disturbed when Wing touched the item.  
  
“Please grasp the item slowly when you are ready,” Perceptor said.  
  
The flicker of black fingers pushing into his space were recorded as the talisman disappeared.  
  
“If you would be so kind, place it back on the table.”  
  
The talisman reappeared, black fingers unfolding from around it.  
  
Perceptor turned his attention the the readings, scrolling through them. Disappointingly, nothing other than the change in light around the item was recorded. No disruptions or alterations to the EM field or protons. The temperature remained constant. He frowned at the results as he rubbed his chin.  
  
Suddenly the talisman materialized on his non-scope shoulder. He turned his head awkwardly as he reached up to grasp it, chuckling at Wing’s playfulness. “I realize this may seem tedious, but these tests are necessary.”  
  
He placed the small jet back on the table, and that’s when he felt a hand over his. Not letting go of the talisman, he sharply focused his optics on his hand. “Would you mind attempting to remove it from my hold?” What had been a ghostly shadow became solid. A black hand over his, fingers gently prying at his. Turning his hand palm up with the jet held firmly, he watched Wing’s hand cup over top. He set the scanner down on the small table top, and reached out with his other hand, placing it over top of Wing’s. It was solid. It was real.  
  
“I was wrong,” Perceptor said, instantly realizing what was happening. “The talisman isn’t the key, it’s the lock. _I’m_ the key, having been marked by your touching me that first time we met.” He then tightened his grip on Wing’s hand, lifting their linked hands clasped around the talisman off the table. “Your other hand--”  
  
Wing seemed to understand, and without needing prompting another black hand appeared over top of his. Primus, how could he have not figured it before now? That mech who’d been tasked with caring for the relic disappeared because he’d been pulled body and spark into another thread of time. Wing had only touched the thread for a moment, leaving an imprint of himself trapped against this part of time. But how would he to get all of Wing here, not just his hands?  
  
Perceptor felt Wing pushing forward hard, causing him to stagger back a step. To his shock, he watched white forearms materialize. He took another step back, pulling on Wing as he did. More of Wing’s frame began to appear: his feet, red shin guards, chest... face.  
  
“Wing,” Perceptor said, in complete awe.  
  
“Pull,” Wing replied, his voice strained-sounding.  
  
Doubling his efforts, Perceptor’s entire body leaned backward as he tugged on Wing with all his strength. The space around them felt like it was undulating. He was determined to win his fight against the hold time had on Wing, and he rocked himself backward. A sensation similar to the wave of energy around an explosion hit his entire body and he flew back, slamming into the wall behind him and collapsing to the floor.  
  
Dazed, he fought to focus his gaze on the mech lying over top of him. “Wing?”  
  
Dimly lighting his optics, Wing looked at Perceptor. “I’m not trapped?”  
  
“It would appear you are in this thread of time now.” Perceptor shifted to sit up, helping Wing to also right himself and sit.  
  
Wing stared at Perceptor, then reached up to lightly run his fingers over Perceptor’s face. “I can touch you in your time thread.”  
  
Chuckling, Perceptor smiled. “This now your time thread as well.”  
  
Wing nodded, then he frowned.  
  
“What is it?” Perceptor asked, concerned by the look on his face.  
  
“I don’t feel...right.” Wing shook his head, then his optics blacked out as his body went limp against Perceptor.  
  
No. Not after all that! He couldn’t lose Wing. Not now!  
  
Perceptor shifted, scooping up the smaller mech into his arms and getting to his feet. He felt a little unsteady from the impact, but his desire to help Wing overrode all else as he exited his lab and swiftly made his way to the medical bay.


	7. Dropped Stitch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theory proves much harder in practice for Perceptor, but Wing has made his choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first attempt at writing from Wing's POV, and so I apologize if it's off. 
> 
> No beta... Grammar abuse.

“He had almost no energon in his tank, his joints and fluids were all at very low levels, and his systems were in desperate need of a long recharge cycle,” First Aid said, reporting all his findings to Perceptor after his quick actions to stabilize Wing. “Um, may I ask where he came from?”  
  
Perceptor glanced at Wing, offline and resting in the medbay berth beside them. “A time fracture.”  
  
“ _Time_ fracture,” First Aid repeated as he tapped his chin. “What is that exactly?”  
  
Perceptor turned his full attention to First Aid. “A piece of time that ran parallel to this time thread. It’s only intersection point was a small item I have in my possession. Utilizing it’s transient properties--”  
  
First Aid held his hands up, palms out. “Okay, right, a time fracture... You’re going to to have to speak with Ratchet when he gets in.” First Aid looked over at Wing. “And I’ll need to notify Rodimus.”  
  
“I will handle notification of the officers in command,” Perceptor replied. “But in the morning, after Wing has had time to rest.”  
  
First Aid nodded. “All right.”  
  
Perceptor walked over to a chair set against the wall and moved it over to the side of the berth, sitting himself down.  
  
“You’re planning on staying?” First Aid asked.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Right. Okay then.” First Aid had a facemask and visor, hiding his true expression, but Perceptor could tell by his tone he wasn’t sure what to make of everything.  
  
It was a rather fantastical situation, pulling a mech clad in ancient armor onto their ship in the dead of night. Explaining to Rodimus would be the easy part, though. What worried Perceptor was how Drift was going to react. Wing was _his_ mentor, after all.  
  
First Aid wandered off to the office.  
  
Perceptor turned his attention to Wing. He looked so peaceful as he rested. His face was relaxed and smooth-looking. Perceptor’s gaze then wandered Wing’s frame. There was something so incredible about the fact he existed here and now. Perceptor marveled over the beauty that was Wing: layered, shiny armor, the rise of his chest and the flowing red accents that adorned his entire frame, the contrast of dark-colored thighs against the gleaming white of his legs and bright-red shin guards that jutted upward. Every micrometer just as captivating to look at here, as it had been in the time fracture. Unable to help himself, Perceptor reached out, running his fingers over Wing’s white forearm, tracing up along the red stabilizer.  
  
“I can hardly believe you are real,” Perceptor whispered as he looked back up at Wing’s face. In theory, this is what he’d wanted. Wing here with him. The way he’d felt in that time fracture was very different than how it felt here, though. There Perceptor was the center of Wing’s world. He felt safe and free. But in this place, this real time, Perceptor felt much less confident in his ability to keep someone as beautiful and amazing as Wing content.  
  
Thoughts of Drift and his loss of interest made Perceptor’s spark ache in his chest. What if Wing also loss interest? Left him? Perceptor took hold of Wing’s hand and squeezed it. He honestly wasn’t sure he could handle being rejected again or trapped under the weight of that spark-crushing loneliness from before.  
  
…  
  
The first thing Wing became aware of was the sound of a raised voice. He dimly lit his optics, seeing a red and white medic gesticulating sharply in air as he appeared to be scolding Perceptor several meters away. Wing frowned, his desire to protect the mech he’d crossed time for overriding all else as he sat himself up. A wave of dizziness hit him hard, and he offlined his optics, waiting for the spinning feeling to pass.  
  
“You shouldn’t be sitting up quite yet,” an unknown voice said.  
  
Onlining his optics, he looked over at another red and white mech, smaller than the one berating Perceptor beside his berth.  
  
He pressed a hand to his helm, trying to will away the dizzy sensation.  
  
“You in pain?” the medic asked.  
  
“Dizzy,” Wing replied.  
  
“Oh, that’s strange. Everything seems within normal levels.” The medic tapped his faceplate as he stared at a glowing screen attached to the berth.  
  
“Perceptor, get back here!” the larger medic yelled.  
  
To Wing’s relief, Perceptor walked up, a vague frown on his lips. “How are you feeling?”  
  
“Dizzy, but otherwise fine,” Wing replied.  
  
Perceptor turned his attention to the medical computer screen, gently pushing First Aid aside and checking the readings himself.  
  
“You said dizzy?” The larger medic asked, walking over. His gaze raked over Wing. “You a flier?”  
  
“Yes,” both he and Perceptor said in unison.  
  
Wing glanced at Perceptor, smiling a little. Perceptor looked at Wing with his miss-matched optics as a hint of a smile curved his lips.  
  
“First Aid, you put regular grade mechanical fluid in his lines?” the larger medic said.  
  
“Yes...” First Aid replied, sounding confused by the question.  
  
“Stop poking the screen, Percy. He needs a fluid swap for the thinner grade.” The large medic leaned over Wing, pushing him to lie down. “By the way, I’m Ratchet. You’ll have to pardon my colleague. We don’t tend to many fliers, let alone ones that need a full system restore, including essential fluids.”  
  
The one named First Aid spun around and jogged away, to presumably get supplies.  
  
“May I please stay online for the procedure?” Wing asked. He knew it would be uncomfortable, but he was eager to talk with Perceptor. To hold his hand, touch what had been untouchable for so long.  
  
Ratchet frowned at Wing. “I don’t think that would be wise.”  
  
As if reading his thoughts, Wing felt warmth of fingers curling around his hand. He glanced over to see Perceptor had taken hold of it, and they exchanged squeezes.  
  
“Yeah, _offline_ ,” Ratchet said, shaking his head. “Like I needed this slag to muck up my day,” he mumbled.  
  
Wing opened his mouth to protest, but it died in his vocalizer as he felt a zap of electricity run through his frame, forcing him back offline.  
  
…  
  
Perceptor walked down the hallway toward Rodimus’ office. He’d been shooed out of medbay for the mech fluid swap, and told if he didn’t go notify Rodimus, then Ratchet would. At the door, he paused to compose himself, shoving all his emotions down deep so he could appear calm and reasonable. He lightly knocked on the door with the back of his fingers, and it whooshed open in response.  
  
“Perceptor,” Ultra Magnus said, half as a greeting and half introducing him as the visitor.  
  
Proceeding past the large mech, Perceptor entered the office. Rodimus barely looked up from his task of marring his desktop with graffiti using a laser scalpel. Perceptor glanced around, seeing it was only the two of them here, no Drift.  
  
“What can I do for you, Perceptor?” Rodimus asked.  
  
“I am here to inform you that I have brought aboard a mech,” Perceptor replied.  
  
Rodimus paused his scribbling and looked up. “What? We didn’t stop anywhere...Did you take a shuttle out or something?”  
  
Perceptor kept his facial expression as serious and devoid of any emotion as possible. “No. I merged a time fragment he existed within into our time thread.”  
  
Raising an optic ridge, Rodimus canted his head. “You what? Merged time?”  
  
“Yes, essentially,” Perceptor replied.  
  
“I--” Rodimus shook his head. “I have no idea what to think about that. Though, it’s certainly not the weirdest thing to happen on this ship. So what exactly--”  
  
“What is this mech’s name?” Ultra Magnus interrupted, seemingly unconcerned with the processor bending science as he pulled his datapad from subspace. “And where is he now?”  
  
“His name is Wing, and he is currently in medbay,” Perceptor replied.  
  
Ultra Magnus fiddled with his datapad, looking up what information he could find. “According to records, Wing was a knight in the Circle of Light.”  
  
Rodimus perked up in his seat. “That’s great news! Maybe he can help us.”  
  
“In an addendum, it also states he perished in battle.” Ultra Magnus glanced at Rodimus. “Drift added the note to the file.”  
  
“Wait, _Wing_? As in, Wing- _Wing_?” Rodimus asked.  
  
“Wing-Wing?” Ultra Magnus repeated, frowning.  
  
Repressing the urge to sigh, Perceptor nodded. “Yes, Drift’s mentor.”  
  
“But if he’s dead how did you pull him from that time thing?” Rodimus asked.  
  
“Time _fracture_ ,” Perceptor corrected. “I believe his current self is an echo of the self left behind when he originally traveled the time thread. Using the transient properties of an item he’d given me, we were able to connect the fractured time piece with this space of time,” Perceptor replied. “In doing so, the fracture was--”  
  
Waving a hand in the air, Rodimus got to his feet. “Well, it’s not that important I know how, so long as _you_ know.” He then smiled and clapped his hands together. “Let’s go to medbay and meet this knight! I’ll message Drift to meet us there.”  
  
Rodimus rounded his desk, pulling a small telecommunicator from his subspace, no doubt sending a message to Drift as all three exited the office.  
  
Perceptor’s spark sank in his chest, heavy with his worry and doubts. He couldn’t help but wonder if his tentative hold on some sort of happiness would slip out of his grasp. …Yet again.  
  
…  
  
“Wing,” Drift said. “I can’t believe this. You were dead.”  
  
“My body died, not my spark,” Wing replied. The fluid swap had been quick, and he’d been brought online after the medics finished to find Drift standing at the foot of the berth.  
  
Drift moved to the side of the berth, his optics shining with awe. Wing sat himself up, feeling much better after the fluid swap. It was strange seeing Drift again, though. Shadows of feelings Wing had once felt for him swirled inside his chest. Memories of their nights together, tangled in desire...  
  
“But, you have your body,” Drift said, his gaze moving over Wing.  
  
“This is incredible! A real life ancient knight!”  
  
They both turned their attention to the mechs walking into medbay.  
  
“This is him, right? The one that trained you?” a red-colored mech asked as he walked up.  
  
“Wing, this is Rodimus, our ship’s commander,” Drift said. “And, yes, this is him.”  
  
Rodimus offered his hand, and Wing took it, cordially shaking it. He then gestured to the larger mech behind him. “The big guy is Ultra Magnus.”  
  
The larger mech frowned as he nodded a hello to Wing.  
  
Behind Ultra Magnus stood Perceptor, his face a mask of indifference to most, but to Wing, he saw pain and doubt in his flatlined mouth. All of the shadowy memories of his time with Drift dissipated, his spark surging in his chest at the mere sight of Perceptor. He was here for him and no one else. Not Drift, not this Rodimus...  
  
“I don’t really understand how Percy here pulled you from the time thing, but you’re more than welcome to be a part of the _Lost Light_ crew,” Rodimus said.  
  
“Thank you,” Wing replied.  
  
Ratchet walked over, arms crossed across his chest as he observed.  
  
“So Perceptor brought you here?” Drift asked.  
  
Wing looked up at Drift, and nodded. “Yes. I’m here for him.”  
  
Confusion clouded Drift’s face. “ _For_ him?”  
  
“I think you all need to give Wing some space.” Ratchet interrupted. “His body was is near failure when Perceptor brought him in here last night. So how about reserving all the questioning for after I discharge him, all right?”  
  
“Fair enough,” Rodimus replied. He smiled at Wing. “When you are up to it, we’ll talk more.”  
  
Wing nodded.  
  
Drift still looked vaguely confused, but he put on a smile anyway as he reached out and gave Wing’s shoulder a squeeze. “I don’t know how or why, but I’m very happy to have you here, Wing. I’ve missed you.”  
  
“Everyone out,” Ratchet said, shooing them toward the doorway.  
  
Ultra Magnus appeared relieved, turning to leave. Rodimus followed him, pausing at the door to gesture to Drift who was lingering beside the berth. “Come on.”  
  
Drift reluctantly stepped back, his hand trailing down Wing’s arm. “We have a lot to catch up on. I’ll give you a tour of the ship when you’re released, okay?”  
  
Wing forced a small smile and nodded. Drift then jogged to join Rodimus at the door and they walked out.  
  
Perceptor began to follow them. No, they’d been parted enough already. Wing swung his legs off the berth and started to stand up. He had no intention of letting him slip away.  
  
“Sit your aft down,” Ratchet said in a scolding tone.  
  
Wing dropped back down, sitting on the berth. He watched Ratchet briskly walk away and catch up to Perceptor grabbing his elbow and yanking him back inside medbay from the doorway. The medic pointed at Wing, saying something that he couldn’t hear. Perceptor nodded to Ratchet, then walked back over, stopping at the foot of the berth.  
  
“Ratchet stated that I’m permitted to stay,” Perceptor said, as if simply relaying a message.  
  
Sitting with his legs off the berth, Wing patted the space beside him. “Sit with me.”  
  
Perceptor moved closer, his mask firmly in place as he joined Wing.  
  
“Other than entering this part of the time thread, nothing has changed for me.” Wing took hold of Perceptor’s hand, squeezing it. “I am not here for those mechs or Drift. I’m here for _you_.”  
  
The mask finally seemed to slip, Perceptor’s optics dimming. “I know.”  
  
He could scold Perceptor for the doubts he saw on his face, or try and convince him through words just how much he meant to Wing. But somehow neither option seemed like the right one. Perceptor had been emotionally wounded, and Wing saw now how deep those scars ran. In the time fracture, none of the pain Perceptor was clearly carrying around had transferred there.  
  
Wing let go of Perceptor’s hand and turned toward him, slipping his arms around Perceptor’s middle and hugging himself close. Responding, Perceptor wrapped both his arms around Wing, hugging back. Wing pressed the side of his face against Perceptor’s shoulder and dimmed his optics. A part of him desperately wanted to proclaim his love, but at the same time he felt he needed to earn that right first. Show Perceptor before telling him.  
  
“Thank you for bringing me here,” Wing said. “For freeing me.”  
  
Perceptor’s grasp on Wing tightened. “I’d do anything for you.”  
  
Wing heard the undertones to his statement. The sentiment that if Wing so chose, Perceptor would step back and leave him be. That was not going to happen, though. Perceptor had become the center of Wing’s world, and he had no intention of letting that go for anything. Certainly not for some old faded memories of Drift. He’d been granted a second chance to make things right, and he had no plans on letting Perceptor down.


	8. Slip stitch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wing works to gain Perceptor's trust.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't going to update this again, but after so much lovely feedback, I was inspired. So enjoy!

“This is your top priority,” Rodimus said, holding the half of the matrix Optimus gave him up. “I'm giving you your own lab space so you can unlock the secrets I know are in here.”

Perceptor nodded, taking the sacred relic and placing it on the nearby work area table. “I need to unpack my items before I can assess the matrix half.”

Rodimus slapped Perceptor’s back hard in a friendly gesture. “Of course, of course. You do what you need to. After pulling a mech out of thin air, I know you can crack this.”

“I pulled Wing from a time fracture that was running alongside our own timeline,” Perceptor replied, internally sighing at Rodimus and his inability to listen.

“Right, time thing. Look, I'll leave you unpack and get to work.” Rodimus grinned before spinning around and leaving Perceptor’s new lab.

Returning to his usual status of alone, Perceptor continued to unpack equipment and a selection of supplies from the main lab. He wondered to himself how Wing was fairing in medbay. Ratchet had refused to discharge him yet, despite all his physical readings being within normal ranges. The motive behind the days-long observation period probably had more to do with keeping Wing safe from Rodimus and his over zealous questioning than for any health issues, though.

Task completed, Perceptor carefully placed the matrix half in a glass container and then left his new lab, securely locking it behind him. He took the lift up to the medbay level, and stepped off, trying not to walk at too brisk a pace as to betray his excitement about seeing Wing. Reaching the door to medbay, he stopped cold in his tracks.

Through the glass he saw Wing on his feet, standing with First Aid and Drift. First Aid was showing Wing and Drift some of his collected Autobot badges. Wing smiled and laughed, so bright and full of life. Drift’s hand kept wandering to touch Wing’s arm or shoulder, which he allowed. A sick feeling roiled through Perceptor. Who was he to think he could compete with someone as beautiful and raw as Drift?

Stepping back, he quickly walked away, returning to the lift. He took it down to the habitation suite area, and practically flew down the corridor to his assigned room. Inside, with the door closed, tears surfaced. His spark burned in his chest with jealousy and pain. He’d never be able to compete for Wing’s affection against Drift.

…

Wing waited in medbay, bored. Drift had come to see him, and he’d also chatted with First Aid throughout the day, enjoying his quirky personality quite a bit. But as the day began to wane, he started to worry about the fact Perceptor had yet to come by. He’d been in everyday, sometimes more than once, making his current absence all the stranger.

Ratchet lumbered around medbay, picked up a datapad and read whatever was on it. “I need to check on the mechs in stasis. Need anything?” he asked, though Wing got the impression it wasn’t really a question he wanted answered.

“I’m fine. Thank you,” Wing replied.

Ratchet made a grumbled sound, then disappeared into a closed room.

Wing glanced around the empty area. He was alone. If he wanted to leave undetected, he could. Mind made up, he decided he should go in search of Perceptor. Sliding off the berth, he quietly padded through the main medbay, out through the front area, and then he stepped silently out the door. He had no idea what the layout of this ship was, and stood in the hallway, looking each direction. “Any direction will lead me to someone that might help me find my way,” he murmured to himself.

Walking with purpose, he made his way to the end of the corridor, and found it split off into two more. He took the one to the right. The lighting got darker, and he wondered if maybe he should turn back. He paused when he heard an unusual sound. Muffled voices, perhaps? He began to peer into the portholes in the doors on either side the hallway, but each room was dark until he peered into the fifth one. it was also dark, but he could see two red optics glowing in the darkness. His plating rippled with an uneasy feeling.

“Wing?”

Nearly jumping at the surprise voice and calling of his name, Wing glanced down the hallway at Drift. “Drift. I’m terribly lost. Would you be able to help me find the habitation suites?” He turned away from the frightening doorway, and closed the distance between them.

“Ratch released you?” Drift asked.

“Not exactly,” Wing replied. “I need to see Perceptor.”

Drift almost seem to flinch at his request. “Perceptor? Why?”

Wing held his former protege and lover’s gaze. “I’m here for him. I need to see him.”

“You said that before.” Drift frowned a little. “What exactly do you mean by that? ‘Here for him’?”

“I traveled time to see him before my death. I never expected that would ultimately lead to my survival. In the wake of my rebirth, as it might be called, I’m devoted to Perceptor,” Wing replied.

“What about, you know, you and me?” Drift asked.

Before he could answer Drift’s comm buzzed on his hip. He unlatched it and checked the message. “Rodimus needs to see me.”

“And I need to see Perceptor. Please, just show me to the habitation suite area,” Wing pleaded, carefully avoiding answering Drift’s question.

“Sure. I’ll show you.” Drift said, obviously distracted as he began to type a reply to their captain. They walked to a nearby lift, and Drift took him the correct level. Finishing his reply on the ride up.

Wing stood, his spark pulsing harder with worry. Why hadn’t Perceptor come to see him? Why was he finding it so hard to tell Drift what was once between them was now over? The lift came to a stop and the doors opened.

“Percy’s suite in block theta. Just follow the signs.” Drift gently took hold of Wing’s hand and squeezed it. “Maybe later when I’m done with my task for Rodimus we could meet up. Talk about things?”

Wing nodded. “We should definitely talk later, yes.”

Drift smiled and let go.

Wing stepped off and watched the doors close. Drift had been an angry, lost spark when they first met. Looking to belong, but not fitting any known molds. That had been something he and Wing had in common and large part of the ‘why’ behind their mutual attraction. But Drift was different now. Still searching, still not fitting in, but at the same time no longer filled with that same seething rage he’d once been ruled by. Had it been Wing’s death that quashed that anger? Had that anger also been part of the attraction? Rejoining this time line here and now was proving more complex and confusing than he thought when he’d asked to be freed.

He finally turned and quietly padded through the corridors. He knew exactly where to go within the habitation suite area. He’d traversed this route countless times with Perceptor, invisible at his side. Reaching the closed door, he pressed a hand to it. He’d once been able to pass right through it at will. He smiled a little at how solid it felt under his fingers, before reaching over and tapping the buzzer.

The wait for the door open felt like it lasted an eternity. He was about to press the button again, but it whooshed open. Perceptor looked surprised, optics bright. “Wing? But, you’re still confined to medbay, aren’t you?”

“You didn’t come to see me. So I came to see you,” Wing replied. He couldn’t help but notice small, lighter colored trails where a layer of dust had been washed clean all over Perceptor’s face. It looked as if they were where tears must’ve fallen down his cheeks. Had he been crying? Why?

“My apologies,” Perceptor replied. “Are you fit enough to be outside medbay?”

“Yes,” Wing replied, stepping forward and pressing a hand to Perceptor’s chest. “Please invite me in.”

“Oh, yes, of course.” Perceptor stepped aside.

Perceptor’s rifle sat in pieces on the desk, another sign something was bothering him. Wing had observed over the time he’d spent in Perceptor’s shadow that he only tended to his weapon when he was distressed over something.

Looking back up into mismatched optics, Wing pressed in closer to Perceptor. The door slid closed, and without hesitation, Perceptor’s arms wrapped around his smaller frame. There were no adequate words to describe how safe and cared for he felt when being held by these red-colored arms. He pressed his forehelm into the crook of Perceptor’s neck, softly sighing. “Why didn’t you come to see me?”

“I did,” Perceptor quietly replied. “You were occupied with another visitor.”

Wing stilled, optics brightening. His only other visitor today had been Drift. He leaned back, peering at Perceptor as worry curled inside his spark. “You have no reason to worry.”

The gloss of tears held back formed at the corners of his normal optic. “Perhaps I was simply forged this way.”

With both hands, Wing cupped Perceptor’s face and then stood on his toes to kiss him. Their mouths melded together, like two halves of a whole. As the kiss broke, Another small tear skipped down Perceptor’s cheek. Wing brushed it away with his thumb. “You’re covered in dust.”

“I moved into a new lab space today. It hadn’t been used in a while,” Perceptor replied, grasp on Wing tightening.

Wing smiled. “I’d like to wash you.”

“Wash me?” Perceptor’s sad expression was replaced with a look of confusion.

“Yes. We need a tub of clean water, some cloths and solvent. I can do it here,” Wing said looking around.

“That’s… an interesting offer but not necessary. I can quickly rinse in the wash racks, if the dust is an issue,” Perceptor replied.

“It’s not an issue. It’s a traditional way of showing affection. I would like to care for you. Think of it as a way to show my appreciation for all you’ve done for me. Please?” Wing curled his hands against Perceptor’s chest, hoping he’d agree.

Perceptor visibly wavered on the line between agreeing and turning down the offer. “Would performing such a ritual make you happy?”

Wing firmly nodded. “Very much so.”

Perceptor kissed his nose, and the sadness in his face faded, replaced with a warmer, affectionate expression. “I’ll need assistance getting a tub of water and all those items down the hallway.”

Wing smiled. “Then I will assist you.”

…

“Did you hear a word I said?” Rodimus asked.

Drift looked up, having mostly tuned out Rodimus while he babbled about his plans. “No,” he answered honestly.

“Typical,” Ultra Magnus tutted, typing into his datapad a furious rate.

Rodimus stared at Drift. “You doing okay? Is there something on your mind?”

“It’s nothing that affects our mission.” Drift couldn’t mention finding Wing near their little secret in the lower level in front of Magnus. “If this meeting is over, how about we go grab a drink at Swerve’s?”

Rubbing his chin, Rodimus frowned. “I have a meeting with Rung scheduled, followed by a meeting with Magnus here. Doesn’t look good for today. Maybe tomorrow.”

“Sure.” Drift glanced at the monolith that was Ultra Magnus in the adjacent chair. He knew something funny was going on between them, but he wasn’t sure what. Locking gazes with Rodimus again, he forced a friendly-looking smile. “Then may I be dismissed?”

“Sure, sure! Go! Have a drink or three for me,” Rodimus replied, flashing his winning smile.

Drift happily got to his feet and left the office. He had never been one for meetings and documentation. But this position he’d been offered validated who he’d been working so hard to become. A mech with a pure purpose. A path he’d been set on by Wing. But with Wing here now, he felt his grasp on that lofty ideal slipping. Why was Wing so carefully keeping his distance? Was he disappointed in who Drift had become?

“Definitely time for a drink,” he grumbled as he strode into Swerve's bar.

…

Perceptor had never been pampered in such a way before. He sat on a cloth in the middle of the floor, legs loosely crossed. Wing was on his knees, carefully wiping down his plating, each touch revenant. He looked so serene and beautiful. Perceptor found himself completely mesmerized as he watched the ritual washing.

He both wanted to ask about Drift, and not ask at the same time. What was Drift to Wing now? Maybe that question’s answer was irrelevant, though. Wing had left medbay without permission to see him, afterall. Not Drift. Wing was here for _him_. A fact he was still working to wrap his processor around completely. Why? No one had ever wanted Perceptor before. Drift’s interest had proved transitory, leaving a gaping void Perceptor had tried hard to close off. Opening himself to this mech was dangerous, and yet he couldn’t stop himself.

Wing shifted around Perceptor until he was directly in front of him. He paused, liquid gold-colored optics locking gazes with his own. “I want to prove my affections to you. Will you let me?”

“Prove? In what way?” Perceptor asked, unsure how any of this was even real.

“Small tasks like this one. Perhaps if you need an assistant in your lab, I would happily volunteer myself,” Wing replied. “I realize I’m a trained fighter, but I do learn quickly.”

Perceptor half-smiled. “I would hate to bore you in my lab. There is a practice range for rifles as well as training rooms in the lower levels where you can work on swordplay. I’ll show you how to get there.”

Wing nodded, smile faltering. “We are very different mechs, aren’t we?”

Perceptor dimmed his optics, his spark aching at the question. “Yes.”

Reaching up with the cloth, Wing gently wiped his face clean. “I think that maybe why I adore as much as I do.”

“You don’t think it’s divisive?” Perceptor asked.

Staring deep into Perceptor’s optics, Wing shook his head ‘no’. “Not in the least. I quite enjoy my ability to shake you to your core.”

“Oh,” Perceptor replied, unsure what that meant exactly. Before he could formulate a follow up question, Wing’s lips found his again. They kissed deeply, glossae twinning between linked mouths. His hands seems to move on their own, following the lovely curves of ancient-styled plating.

Wing hummed into the kiss, the sound reverberating between them. The kiss ended with a soft gasp as their mouths parted. Mischevious intentions flickered in golden optics and Wing moved to straddle Perceptor’s lap. “I would very much like to experience you fully with our real bodies.”

“I worry I might disappoint you,” Perceptor replied, hands running down Wing’s body armor slowly, fingers following the well-known shapes.

“Never,” Wing replied.

“I worry you may tire of me,” he then admitted in a smaller voice.

“Perceptor, do you not understand? Had I lived after that battle, the oracle showed me I would have left the New Crystal City with Drift. We would’ve saved your life together, and I would have been there after his attention in you faded, only then discovering you were my truest love. We would then part ways from Drift, his rough edges having not smoothed, made more jagged by jealousy. Death would follow in Drift’s wake, his darkness eating his spark whole, and turning him into a foe as formidable as any tyrant. I had to give up a life with you in order to save his spark from darkness. But I also gave up my chance to be with my true love. This is my second chance to be with you. Time literally fractured all because of my spark’s yearn for you.”

Being a mech of science, it all sounded so fantastic. There were no known theories that could prove seeing into the future was even possible. But then, he hadn’t been sure time travel was possible until now, either. “I want to believe every word of that. It’s beautiful to think we were destined for one another. But as mech rooted in logic, it’s hard for me fully accept.”

Wing nodded, gently running the backs of his fingers down Perceptor’s cheek. “And this is why I want to prove myself to you. I know it will take you time. But please don’t give up on me before we’ve even really started to live.”

Perceptor felt his spark stir at the deepest levels and smiled a little. “Never.”

Wing laughed, a light airy sound that bubbled up from somewhere deep inside. “Now, as for my original request…” He trailed his fingers down Perceptor’s chest, abdomen and then lower to cup his interface cover. “Without the strange air of that fracture I want to experience all of you.”

“I would very much like that, too,” Perceptor replied. “Should we move to the berth, though?”

“On one condition,” Wing replied.

“Which is?” Perceptor asked.

“I want to sit just like this,” Wing leaned in closer, ghosting his lips over Perceptor’s while his fingers continued to massage the closed cover. “And ride you until we both are overcome,” he said in a hushed, seductive tone.

“Of course,” Perceptor breathed, his entire body filled with the most intense lust for Wing. How could a mech that was so beautiful and proper also be the most sensual mech Perceptor had ever had the pleasure of being intimate with? He wrapped both arms around his lovely companion, and rose to his feet with Wing held firmly in his grasp. Because of their differing heights, Wing’s feet dangled just above the ground.

Wing chuckled and held onto Perceptor’s shoulders tightly. “Sweeping me off my feet literally, I see.”

“Appears so,” Perceptor replied, moving to the berth and sitting down with Wing in his grip and lap.

Seductively writhing against Perceptor, Wing’s golden optics darkened in hue. “I’m all yours to have. Please take me.”

Perceptor nodded, his hands feeling their way over Wing’s body. Rising up to a kneeled position, Wing lifted the armor skirting section in front, revealing his interface cover had been retracted. Perceptor touched the exposed spike, able to see clearly just how beautiful it was. Red stripes ran from tip to base, the head had an unusual flare to it, most likely meant for adding pleasure. But Wing had requested to ‘ride’, and his fingers found their way to the open valve below. He sank one in, and Wing trembled slightly as he softly moaned. Focusing his attention on Wing’s face, he slowly pumped his finger in and out several times. Wing’s lips parted, allowing the smallest noises of approval escape.

“More,” Wing whispered, still holding his skirting armor up with both hands against his belly.

Two, and then three fingers filled the slicked valve. Wing trembled, optics dim and dark gold in color as he sighed and moaned. Perceptor’s own spike pressed uncomfortably against the closed cover, begging to be freed.

Their gazes locked and Wing’s blissed out expression shifted to one of desire. “Open up.”

Perceptor obeyed, his cover retracting. He couldn’t help but sigh in relief.

“I can’t reach from here, so touch your spike for me,” Wing commanded with a mischievous half-smile.

Perceptor’s free hand wrapped around his spike, and he pumped it in time with his fingers thrusting into Wing’s valve. This was strangely more intense than it had been in the time fracture. The scent of Wing’s lubricant on his fingers wafted in the air, the low light of the room made Wing’s armor practically glow, it felt so much more real.

Wing gathered the armor in one hand, and with his freed one, grasped Perceptor’s wrist, stilling his movement. Understanding the unspoken request, Perceptor withdrew his fingers. Wing then lowered himself down, valve wrapping around his very erect spike. Finally letting go of his armor, Wing lifted Perceptor’s hand to his lips, laving each digit clean. As if that wasn’t an erotic enough visual to fuel him for a lifetime, he felt Wing controlling his valve, squeezing it in intervals around his spike.

Unable to hold it in, Perceptor moaned. “You never…did that before…”

“You like that, hm?” Wing asked. “In the time fracture I had less control over my body. But here I can draw on my training.”

Training? Perceptor made a mental note to ask about that once he wasn’t buried to the hilt and distracted by the haze of lust currently permeating his processor.

The rhythmic squeezes of Wing’s valve had his already hard spike throbbing with desire for release. Once Wing let go of his wrist, both of Perceptor’s hands wrapped around his waist. “Please…” he pleaded.

Wing chuckled, and grabbed hold of Perceptor’s shoulders. “Something like this?” he said as he gyrated his hips, kneading Perceptor’s spike inside his valve.

Perceptor could only whine in response, his whole body quivering with need for release.

Soon Wing bounced in his lap, riding his spike just as he said he wanted to. Perceptor held on as long as he could, but his desire coupled with just how talented Wing truly was with his body proved too much. He suddenly hugged Wing against his chest, stilling him with his spike buried, release flooding that heated valve in wave after wave while he gasped at the intense sharpness overload brought.

Coming down the other side, he loosened his grasp, peering up at Wing. “You… didn’t…”

“Not yet. That was so beautiful to watch, though.” Wing cupped his face and kissed him sweetly.

“My apologies,” Perceptor replied, regret filling his spark at his poor performance.

Wing looked confused. “No need to apologize for anything. Who said we were done?” He gyrated his hips again, causing fluid to dribble down the base of his spike. “I certainly don’t think you are. I can feel it’s thickness still.”

Perceptor moaned at that as he nodded. Wing was right, even with his overload, his spike was still very much erect. Was this how intense his desire for Wing really was? One overload not being enough?

Pressing his lips to Perceptor’s audio, Wing then whispered his next request. “Lay back.”

Without a second thought, Perceptor obliged. Wing sat perched atop him, and placed his hands on Perceptor’s glassy chest for balance as he began to rise and fall over his spike.

Perceptor’s hands skimmed over Wing’s body as it rocked over his. Wing was almost too pretty to be real. This almost felt too incredible to be real. Never in his most far-reaching dreams would he have dared to think a mech like this would want him. Yet here he was, desire and lust mixing with deeper emotions like love stirring inside his body and spark. He’d do whatever it took to keep this mech happy. To make sure he’d stay…

Wing whimpered, and curled his body forward against Perceptor. “Finish me.”

His black hands wrapped around Wing’s aft just under his armor skirt, and he rolled his hips at a quickened pace, impaling Wing hard and fast. Wing writhed against him and then he cried out, shuddering hard with overload. Perceptor grunted at the tightening around his spike, which squeezed a second overload from him. They groaned in unison, bodies locked together as pleasure overtook them both.

As the moment passed, they sagged in a heap on Perceptor’s berth. Unable to resist, he lightly pet over Wing’s currently ruffled armor.

“I enjoyed our times together in the fracture, but reality is definitely preferable,” Wing said with a sated sigh.

Perceptor genuinely smiled. The sort of smile that came directly from his spark. “I would have to agree.”

Wing shifted, looking down at his body tangled with Perceptor’s . “I’m quite debauched-looking at the moment, hm? In the time fracture my armor was much less unruly.”

Fingering a piece of armor that was jutting up out of place, Perceptor chuckled. “You simply look as if you’ve enjoyed yourself.”

Incandescent smile on his lips, Wing turned his golden-opticked gaze on Perceptor. “I certainly did.”

Perceptor cupped Wing’s face with one hand and kissed him. Pulling back, hope for more than a solitary life fluttered inside him. He could see himself with Wing as his companion, a vision that had been blurry only a couple hours ago. Knowing himself, it would wane again, but maybe if Wing did stay by him long enough his confidence in his place at his side would start to take a stronger hold.


	9. Out of the Loop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skipping forward in time is easier in theory for all involved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "You think you're not worthy  
> I'd have to say I agree  
> I'm not worthy of you  
> You're not worthy of me...
> 
> What good is a poker face  
> When you've got an open hand  
> I was supposed to be cool about this  
> Yeah  
> I remember  
> cool was the plan." -Ani DiFranco, Worthy

“In here are the practice batons,” Perceptor said, opening the cabinet in the corner of a large practice room.

Wing peered inside, impressed with the selection in sizes and types of mock weaponry. He picked up one similar in size to his former greatsword, and smiled a little. “Even weighs the same as my former sword.”

Perceptor nodded as he watched Wing handle the baton between his hands. “I need to return to my lab for a few hours. You’re more than welcome to visit later on if you’d like.”

Glancing up at Perceptor, Wing canted his head. “I wouldn’t be a bother?”

“Of course not,” Perceptor replied.

Wing lowered the baton and stepped closer to Perceptor, standing on his toes to kiss him. “I’ll practice for a good long while since I’m sure I’m quite rusty. But when I’ve exhausted my energy, I’ll come to get you and perhaps we could go have a drink together? Ratchet mentioned Swerve’s bar to me, saying it was the place to go for a drink and meeting some of the other crew.”

“It most certainly is, and absolutely.” Perceptor leaned down and kissed Wing sweetly in return. He lingered for a moment, optics dimmed. “Enjoy your practice.”

Spark fluttering, Wing nodded. Gazing into Perceptor’s face and seeing adoration reflected back at him felt good. Maybe he was finally reaching Perceptor, getting past all those tall emotional walls he’d locked his spark inside of. Space remained between them, but Wing would do all he could to win Perceptor’s spark-felt love.

After stealing one more kiss, Perceptor finally stepped away and waved as he left Wing alone in the practice room.

Happily sighing, Wing lifted the baton sword, and swung it from side to side to get a feel for it’s weight in his hands. He missed his former sword, but he felt it was no longer his to have. It belonged to Drift now and he had to admit it looked good mounted on his back.

Wing stood in a sparring stance and began to shuffle around the room, repeating exercises Dai Atlas had once spent days on end drilling him with. Memories of his life in New Crystal City filled his mind as he moved around the room, swinging the baton sword. The beauty of his former home, the contented life he lead despite the strict laws they all abided by. Part of him missed it, but part of him was glad to be free of the burden of his daily routine and training. Here he could explore who it was he truly wanted to be, a wide open question with no clear answers. Daunting and exciting all at once.

He was so absorbed in his thoughts, it wasn’t until he spun around for one of the parrying moves that he saw he wasn’t alone.

Lowering the baton, he gracefully bowed before a purple-colored mech leaned up against the wall near the doorway. “My apologies. I didn’t notice you there,” Wing said, standing back up after his bow.

The purple mech only semi-grunted in reply.

Wing walked a little closer to his observer. “My name is Wing.”

“I know.”

Tensing his folded wings on his back in tighter, he tried not to take offense at what would be considered rude behavior in the Crystal city, new or old. “And what is your name?”

“Cyclonus.” Pushing away from the wall he walked over to Wing and looked him up and down. “You’ve been trained well.”

Wing let his own gaze slide over Cyclonus’ plating, noting his older styled armor. He was from a different time, older than anyone else Wing had met so far. There was also a darkness attached to him, something he couldn’t quite place. “I’m afraid my skills have diminished somewhat.”

“You handle that baton better than Drift does your sword he’s been carting around,” Cyclonus replied.

Wing dimmed his optics a little at the comment, but decided to let it pass unaddressed. “Would you like to spar with me?”

Cyclonus’ optics flashed with his surprise at the invite. “I have someone–I mean, somewhere to be at. I was passing by and stopped to watch out of curiosity.”

“Perhaps another time, then?” Wing responded in a friendly tone, despite his unease.

“Perhaps,” Cyclonus replied.

“Cyclonus?” They both looked to the doorway. Drift stood there, questioning look on his face. “You never come down here.”

“I can go where I want.” Cyclonus then abruptly turned and strode out, purposely bumping into Drift on his way out.

Drift frowned after him, then looked over at Wing. “Now _you_ I was hoping to find down here.” His frown softened into a small smile as he strode over.

“Oh?” Wing replied, coyly.

Coming to a stop in front of Wing, Drift nodded. “I haven’t had a sparring partner in a long while. I showed Rodimus some moves, but he doesn’t practice enough to be much of a challenge.”

Lifting his baton, Wing fell back into a staring stance, unable to resist the invitation to spar with his best student. “I should warn you, I’m very out of practice.”

“I doubt that.” Drift walked over to the cabinet, removed a baton sword that matched the one Wing held, and removed the greatsword from his back, carefully placing in the empty rack space. Returning, he fell into a spar stance with his baton raised. “Okay, ready?”

Wing sharply nodded, unable to repress a smile. They tapped baton tips, initiating the match. Wing moved backward, letting Drift advance, sidestepping all his swings while blocking with his baton. Drift’s optics were bright with determination as he continued to push forward. Wing ducked one of his wider swings, and rolled. He popped back to his feet behind Drift, and before his protege could react, he held the baton at his throat from behind.

Leaning in, Wing spoke into Drift’s audio. “I win this match.”

Drift chuckled. “Out of practice, my aft.” Letting go, Wing stepped back. Drift spun around, returning to a starting stance. “Again?”

Wing tapped his baton to Drift’s initiating another match. “Again.”

They sparred, match after match, ranging all over the room and taking turns pushing forward or falling back. Drift seemed to be having the time of his life, fighting hard against Wing’s moves. And in truth Wing enjoyed himself, too. Drift was as raw a fighter as before, often reacting without forethought. It made for a messy fighting style, but his unpredictability was exciting and a challenge.

After about an hour, Wing was finally starting to feel fatigued. Drift got the upper hand, and Wing was flipped onto his back on the floor. Drift straddled his waist, baton at Wing’s throat.

“Getting tired?” Drift asked, lighting panting himself.

Wing huffed and nodded. “It appears I’m still mending from my tumble through time.”

“You still won almost every match,” Drift replied, lifting the baton away.

“And you were quite a challenge, as always,” Wing replied.

Drift set his baton to the side, and gently ran his fingers down Wing’s cheek. “You’re as beautiful as you were before. It’s almost unreal to feel your body under me again.”

Wing couldn’t deny the attraction was still there between them. Drift was so raw and powerful for his size. Not to mention beautiful. Wing gazed up at him, remembering those long nights in his berth, bodies tangled while he taught Drift that interfacing was about more than using it to gain power over another mech. That it could also be about mutual gratification.

As if reading Wing’s mind, Drift bent forward and their lips met in a searing kiss. Once it broke, Drift lingered close. “Remember the nights in your apartment? In your berth? After we’d spend all day sparring like this?”

“Yes,” Wing breathed. “I remember.”

“How about coming back up to my quarters?” Drift asked before mouthing Wing’s lower lip.

Wing turned his head away. “I can’t. Please.” He pushed on Drift to get off of him.

Drift didn’t move off, but he sat back on his heels. “Because of Perceptor?”

Wing met Drift’s disappointed gaze. “Yes. I love him, Drift. What we had was… _wonderful,_ but it’s not who we are to one another now.”

“And what are we now?” Drift asked, hurt flickering in his expression.

“I hope we can be good friends,” Wing replied.

Drift pushed off Wing, then stood up. He offered his hand, which Wing graciously took. Once on his feet, he frowned at how upset Drift appeared.

“I don’t think I can just be your friend,” Drift replied. “To be honest, I was hoping that–” he sighed. “–we could be together again. I was happy with you. It was the happiest I’ve ever been, I think. No matter who I seem to share a berth with, they pale in comparison to how I felt with you.”

“Perceptor, included?” Wing couldn’t help but ask.

Drift’s optics brightened as he met Wing’s steady gaze. “Percy… That was different. I wasn’t good enough for him. Certainly not back then. And probably less so now, especially after I hurt him.”

Wing felt a flare of his own jealousy fill his chest. Drift obviously cared for Perceptor even now. “You loved him?”

“I dunno. Maybe I did. Maybe part of me still does,” Drift replied with a small shrug. “Part of me still loves you, though. That I _do_ know.”

“This is all far more complicated than I expected,” Wing quietly replied.

Drift grimaced and dimmed his optics. “Why can’t things just be how they were?”

Wing put a hand on Drift’s forearm and gently squeezed it. “Drift, you’ve grown so much in my absence. Being with me again would be like stepping backward. I want to see you move forward.”

“Easier said than done,” Drift replied.

Wing nodded. “Yes. And while I want to see you find someone you’ll love with all your spark, that doesn’t mean I don’t care for you. I truly want us to be friends.”

“I’d like that, but it’s gonna take me some time to figure out how to be just a friend around you,” Drift replied. “I might slip up now and again.”

“Time,” Wing repeated, the word having such a different meaning to him now. “Then we’ll let time work it’s magic. Let it heal wounds and forge new paths for us to follow.”

“You really are the same ol’ Wing.” Drift’s frown softened and he half-smiled.

…

Drift grunted, bent over the berth with Rodimus behind him, spike impaling him over and over. Things between him and the captain had quickly shifted from friendship to lust once they’d left Cybertron. But this relationship with Rodimus wasn’t exactly healthy. Drift was never treated as equal, and he knew he wasn’t the only one sharing Rodimus’ berth. That didn’t stop him from seeking distraction at his hands, though. And after his sparring in the practice room with Wing, he needed this.

“Squeeze that valve!” Rodimus ordered, voice husky.

Grasping at the berth and matching Rodimus’ pace, Drift tightened his valve around Rodimus’ spike.

Would Wing think he made progress if he saw him like this? Letting Rodimus take control of him? This was one of those things Wing had tried to help him with. Show him that interfacing could be so much more, but after failing so miserably with Perceptor he’d fallen back into old habits. Facing to get off, not to share something intimate with another mech.

“Primus, you are so good with that valve of yours!” Rodimus groaned. “So… close…”

Drift could only whimper and nod, his whole body shaking on the edge of overload. Images of Wing beneath him, the warmth of his lips, the smooth armor under his fingertips– “Primus!” Drift cried out, his valve squeezing in intervals around Rodimus’ spike pounding into him as overload tore through his entire body. The pleasure blotted out the darker feelings eating around his edges, leaving him a panting, shivering mess as Rodimus continued to chase his own overload with abandon.

With a guttural moan, Rodimus pressed himself to the hilt and spilled inside Drift. “Frag…” He held himself there, overloading for a long, intense moment before the jerking of his spike finally stopped and hard shape softened inside him. Rodimus finally withdrew, and flopped on his back next to Drift on the berth, lightly panting. He glanced at Drift and grinned. “I think your valve is perfection. Gift of the Circle of Knights?”

“Upgrades on Cybertron just before the war,” Drift replied. He’d not told Rodimus any details about his past life as a Decepticon, but not for his captain’s lack of trying to find out. His valve upgrades had been a gift from Megatron, but he certainly wasn’t going to divulge that bit of information to Rodimus.

“Oh? Well, I approve,” Rodimus replied with a sated sigh.

Rolling over to his back, Drift reached down and closed the cover between his legs. The pleasure of overloading had only temporarily eased the sadness he felt, though.

“You leaving already?” Rodimus asked.

“Yeah. I need a drink or ten.” Drift sat himself up.

“Rung is taking patients again. Maybe you should chat with him,” Rodimus suggested.

“Maybe,” Drift replied. “Thanks for, um, well. You know. See you at the briefing later.”

“Sure.” Rodimus frowned at Drift, clearly concerned, but not concerned enough to want to hear about it.

Drift got to his feet and quickly exited Rodimus’ quarters. Thoughts still swirling around Wing, his romp not helping him forget like he’d hoped.

…

Perceptor had spent most of the day testing the matrix half. It appeared to be empty, but his tests showed it had retained some of the powerful energy Optimus had released. He checked and recorded the levels of the unknown energy, curious as to how this relic functioned. It was incredibly mysterious.

A tap on his lab door drew his attention. He glanced over, seeing golden optics peering at him from the porthole in the door. He smiled, and got to his feet, crossing the lab to let Wing in. The door opened and Wing swept inside, hugging himself to Perceptor. Happily holding this unbelievably beautiful mech in his arms, Perceptor chuckled a little. “You act as if we haven’t seen each other in days, not hours.”

Wing pressed his face into Perceptor’s chest, and dimmed his optics. “I’m going to tell you something that will upset you. But I want to tell you because you mean so much to me. Honesty is the best policy when it comes to lasting relationships.”

Perceptor’s smile faded. “What is it?”

Wing hugged himself tighter to Perceptor for a moment, as if it might the last time he’d be able to. He then lifted his head up, locking gazes with him. “Drift kissed me. I pushed him off, told him things were done between us. That I’m with you.”

Lips parted, but no words came. Perceptor stared into the seas of gold looking at him with fear and worry. In comparison to Drift, Perceptor paled. He knew that. And while he was hurt by the idea of them kissing, he was also dumbstruck that Wing would still choose him over Drift.

“I would never intentionally hurt you. I apologize from the deepest depths of my spark,” Wing added, clearly convinced his rejection was eminent. “Please, say something. Anything. Tell me you’re upset or angry with me. I will do whatever it takes to make this up to you. But please, say something?”

Perceptor frowned. “Did he force himself on you?”

Wing looked vaguely confused by the question. “He came to the practice room, and we sparred for a while. It was quite wonderful practice. He’s talented at swordplay and a challenge, but he eventually flipped me to the mat and straddled me. A natural part of sparring, but then he…” Wing dimmed his optics. “Kissed me.”

Anger rose up inside Perceptor, but it wasn’t directed at Wing. His lips pressed into a hard line, and looked away for a moment, trying hard to contain the burning anger.

“Perceptor?” Wing reached up, tentatively touching his cheek.

Perceptor grabbed his hand, holding it still. “You told him to stop?”

“Of course. I told him I was with you,” Wing replied.

“And he promised to keep his hands and _lips_ to himself?” Perceptor asked.

Wing nodded, his face betraying his desperate worry. “Yes.” He twisted his hand slightly still in Perceptor’s grasp. “Please don’t be angry with me. I will do anything to make it up to you.”

Confused, Perceptor canted his head. “You did nothing to anger me.”

“You’re _upset_. I can see it in your face,” Wing replied.

Perceptor shook his head, and let go of Wing’s hand. He hugged him close and pressed kisses to his forehelm. “I’m not angry with you. I’m angry that Drift thinks he can take what he wants. He’s spent too much time around Rodimus.”

“I don’t think that’s it. He’s idealized our time together, but I set him straight. I promise,” Wing replied, snuggling closer to Perceptor.

Sagging slightly, Perceptor’s anger turned inward. Of course Drift would idealize a mentor that died in battle. The few stories Drift shared about Wing when they’d briefly been together  highlighted that fact. Perceptor felt so inadequate. Unworthy of Wing, unworthy of anyone’s love or devotion. He almost couldn’t help being over-protective of this mech in his arms. He didn’t want anyone to take Wing away from him, even though he knew he didn’t deserve him in the first place.

...

Swerve’s bar was packed. Wing’s optics were wide and bright, looking all around as they shimmied their way up to the bar.

“Look at this place. It’s like old Cybertron in here. I don’t think I’ve seen anything like this in millenia,” Wing said as he slid onto the stool seat.

Perceptor couldn’t help but smile a little at how enthralled Wing was with the scene. He sat down next to him, and Swerve sauntered over.

“Wanna try the special?” Swerve asked.

“We’ll each have the regular grade, thank you,” Perceptor replied.

Tailgate crawled up onto the empty stool next to Wing. “More Nightmare Fuel over here please!”

“Nightmare fuel?” Wing replied.

“Yeah. It’s not bad.” Tailgate looked at Wing and his visor went bright blue. “Whoa. You’re the knight. The one that came back to life.”

“My name is Wing.”

Tailgate slowly nodded. “Wing. Primus, you’re really pretty.”

Wing laughed. “And you are quite adorable. What is your name?”

“That’s Tailgate,” Perceptor replied, amused by the minibot’s unwavering gaze. He could certainly relate to feeling overwhelmed by how beautiful Wing was.

“Two regulars,” Swerve said, thunking the glasses down on the bartop. “And one Nightmare Fuel. How many have you had, Tailgate?”

Still staring up at Wing, Tailgate didn’t answer the question. He started to reach out to pet the layered armor, but stopped short. “It would be rude to touch your plating without asking, right?”

“Are you asking?” Wing replied, chuckling.

“Yeah,” Tailgate replied. “Is it okay?”

Swerve drummed his fingers on the bartop, shooting Tailgate a pointed look.

“Yes, you may. But I think the barmech asked you a question,” Wing replied.

“Huh?” Tailgate looked at Swerve.

“I asked, how many fuels have you had?” Swerve repeated with a frown.

“Oh. They aren’t for me. Cyclonus is drinking them,” Tailgate replied before lightly running his small hand over the skirting armor on Wing’s hip.

Swerve and Perceptor perked up at that, and looked back over toward a corner table where Cyclonus was brooding and watching Tailgate with a sharp optic. Perceptor shifted on his stool, ready to protect Wing if something happened. He didn’t trust the former Decepticon.

“A drunk Cyclonus… Well, it’s certainly never boring here, right?” Swerve laughed as he walked over to attend Skids who’d sat down at the other end of the bar.

“Is it hard to move around with so much extra armor?” Tailgate asked, still lightly touching Wing.

“Not at all. My armor styling is similar to your friend, Cyclonus’ armor,” Wing replied.

Tailgate glanced at Cyclonus and then nodded. “A little? He’s got the stuff on his hips like you do, too.” He picked up his drink and peered up at Wing. “Actually, you look a lot like Drift. Or maybe Drift looks like you?”

Wing nodded. “I suppose we have similarities.”

“It was nice to meet you.” Tailgate slid off the stool and made his way back toward Cyclonus.

Perceptor stared down at his drink, feeling Wing’s gaze pinned on him. He and Drift did look alike and he did wonder if the attraction might be based in something more superficial.

Wing hooked his arm around Perceptor’s, clinging tightly to it. “I can literally see when you start to overthink things.”

“Oh?” Perceptor asked.

“It’s not a surface connection we share. It runs much deeper.” Wing leaned the side of his helm on Perceptor’s captured arm.

Heat flashed over Perceptor’s faceplates and he stiffened at the open affection in such a public locale.

“You don’t feel comfortable with my being close to you in front of your comrades?” Wing asked in a hushed voice, very clearly enjoying how easily he could embarrass Perceptor. “Want me to let go?”

Perceptor shyly smiled. “No, it’s fine. I’m simply not used to having someone truly want to be with me.”

The amused smile on Wing’s face faded to a intense stare. “I’ve been with you since before you even knew I was.”

Locking gazes with Wing, Perceptor felt his spark flutter and swell inside his chest. He didn’t know what to say to that, so instead he gently kissed the crest of Wing’s helm in full view of just about everyone he knew on board. Pleased with the response, Wing smiled again, picking up his drink and gulping down it’s contents, all while continuing to cling to Perceptor’s arm.

Drift walked into Swerve’s bar and stopped cold when he saw Wing at the bar wound around Perceptor’s arm and smiling brightly as he drank. The dark, unsettled feeling he’d hoped to shake by coming here instantly deepened. When Perceptor first reported Wing’s survival, he’d been so happy. That joy had turned to ash, however. The two mechs who he’d been his most vulnerable with found in one another what he’d not been able to offer either of them. Turning on his heel, Drift left almost as fast as he came. He wandered the hallways of the Lost Light for a while, spark heavy. He'd lost so much, the mechs he'd loved, and himself, too.


End file.
